Gay Weaklings
by Threnna
Summary: Alfred F. Jones, a football player, a handsome blonde, popular, is -to his great distress- eighteen and a virgin. Luckily, one of his upper classmen has the sollution. But things advance too fast, and soon Alfred can't tell up from down. /high school AU
1. Chapter 1

"_Everybody loves me_!" A shower of laughter washed through the room as Alfred F. Jones, a blonde, football player, a four-eyes, and the heartthrob of most girls in school, stood like a champion on the living room table roaring along with the song blaring from the large speakers. With a big bottle in one hand and pumping a fist with the other, he did a victory turn on the table, nodding his head and spurring on a new volley of applauding and noise as the party officially hit its peak. The lighting was dim, the music blasting loud and the air stuffed, thick with sweat, the tinge of alcohol and hormonal students ready to lose their conscience for a wicked Friday night.

He jumped down, receiving several encouraging pats on the back for his little show. A girl hooked her fingers into the collar of his t-shirt and he let her drag him in close for a dance. He entertained her for the duration of two songs, then headed on outside which had been his original destination. Alfred had no idea whose house he was in, having been whisked there hours ago by his friends, drawn by the rumour of a sick party. It didn't really matter either, and he reckoned more than half of the people there were the exact same as him.

Out in the garden fresh air was a welcome change from the heavy air inside, even though cigarette smoke and the distinct smell of weed was thick around them instead. Eyes roaming the scene he quickly spotted a group of guys and a few girls laughing and chatting away. With a grin he headed for them.

Just as he was within earshot, he heard a blonde, tall guy – a third year he knew quite well – say,

"Do you know The Gecko?" with a glint in his eye.

"Enlighten us," a smaller boy with patina blonde hair said next to him, rolling his eyes; indicating he had heard this before. With a small snicker, Alfred joined them.

"You know when you got a girl, right, and you're fucking her from behind against a wall," the third year took a pause for dramatic effect, the boys nodding appreciatively and the girls either rolling their eyes or giggling. Alfred on the other hand felt a sudden clammy, cold stone drop in his stomach, and just like that it took all his focus to keep his smile. "_The Gecko_ is when you pull your dick out, ram it up her ass and see how far up the wall she climbs. Just like a gecko." Laughter and a longer bragging of who had and who hadn't tried this out, accompanied with teasing of the present girls ensued. Alfred partook in the very first of the three, but had taken a subconscious half-step back. One of the girls squealed, her neat brown hair flourishing around her head as she jumped when one of the boys slapped her butt playfully. She immediately retaliated verbally, the rest watching on amused. An arm slid around Alfred's shoulder, a mouth suddenly close to his ear, the grin distinct even though they weren't actually touching.

"So, how's the virginity goin'?"

Alfred froze, his chest seizing up minutely before he recognised the voice and shook the intruder off and spun to face him with an angered –flustered– "_Shh_!". Alfred's eyes glanced around nervously, looking for anyone showing signs to have heard, a brief rush of relief loosening up his rigid back when he found no one. –That however, didn't mean the albino who was currently in front of him was in the in the clear.

"Chill, dude," the guy grinned, only sniggering loudly at Alfred's glare. "Everyone here knows you're a clean lilly."

"What do you mean _everyone_?" Alfred whispered, feeling that cold chill from before returning tenfold. He must have visibly paled, or maybe it was the numb lack of force in his voice, either way the albino laughed again.

"Loosen up, Alfie," he patted Alfred hard on the back, then began navigating through the crowd, _Alfie_ tailing after him to a table with a big bucket of punch. "No one knows, though I honestly doubt your popularity would die out, no matter what I tell people. So don't you worry, little heart-breaker." He winked; his tone was teasing, though he knew fully well a whole boatload of girls would go suicidal if they knew about Alfred's little secret… well, that other secret besides this one.

"I'm _really _flattered Gill, but what do you want?" the albino had seemed perfectly content with his friends in another part of the house last time Alfred spotted him; the guy, _Gill_, wouldn't have temporarily abandoned them and sought him out in the chaos for nothing.

"Just checking on my junior, awesome as I am," Gill took a sip of his newly acquired drink and Alfred shook his head slightly, and snorted a laugh despite himself, though the geniunitiy of his smile faded quickly enough. Regardless of what people might say about third year's Gilbert Beilschmidt's boisterous behaviour, the subtle change was not lost on him. Putting down his cup on the table, he turned fully to Alfred, his face suddenly serious.

"Do you know Arthur Kirkland?"

Alfred's eyebrows skyrocketed. That was a question out of the blue if he ever saw one, not to mention completely unnecessary.

"If I _know_ him?" Alfred rolled his eyes. "He's only the school president." - _And the biggest pervert with the smartest mouth on this side of the Atlantic._ The president's rumour was a widespread one, and how any of the teachers ever okayed him being the school's president was a mystery. After all; the guy read pornographic magazines openly in class (Alfred had even seen him do so at several occasions with his own eyes, when he passed the guy's classroom), and that was only the tip of the iceberg…

Gilbert nodded, waving his hand dismissively. "Yeah, well, I've heard he doesn't mind one-nightstands, and doing guys as well as girls."

That was the second of Alfred's secrets that would cause the heartbreak of many a maiden right there:

"He's _gay_?" Alfred was surprised and not, at the same time. The infamous president's many magazines only held big-breasted women (as all the rumours went anyway), but then again, the guy _was_ British.

"Nah, but he doesn't mind doing them just for the fuck's sake. He's pretty lax that way," Gill said with a shrug. He looked at Alfred expectantly. "Wanna go for it?" Alfred's mouth gaped open and closed, much like a fish on land, and Gill grinned. "C'mon, what've you got to lose?"

Alfred opened his mouth again, but slammed it shut before he could make a sound. He had been about to say "_my virginity_", but that would be more than a little stupidly hypocritical. He stayed quiet, Gill waiting with that same lewd grin. Then how about "_my virginity for a freaking pervert?"_ Alfred's thoughts supplemented… Okay, maybe not. He was slowly starting to regret the slip of his tongue one late, drunk Saturday night when he confessed to Gill that he was gay, virgin and goddamn tired of it. The albino had been the first and only person Alfred had confided in about this ever, and why it had been that loud, crazy German he had opened up to in the end only alcohol could explain.

When the younger blonde still didn't say anything, Gill spoke instead.

"Don't worry, I'll check it out for you," he said with what was probably supposed to be a reassuring face, but looked more like he was choking a laugh. "Francis has known him since they were both in diapers, it'll be easy enough." Alfred stared at him, and for only a moment that mischievous façade the third year always kept up, slipped. "It'll be alright," he said, then gave Alfred a solid slap on the back. "Soon, you can wave your virginity good bye for good," Gill winked. "It must really suck to be eighteen and still un-popped after all," he grimaced, saluted, and with that look off. Back to Antonio and Francis, the third year's two closest friends. Francis. A chill ran up Alfred's back. He emptied his bottle in one fell-swoop, a groan on his lips, a grumbling feeling in his gut and his thoughts churning nonstop.

_What have I gotten myself into?_

* * *

><p>"Alfred!"<p>

Monday mid-day, lunch break had just ended, and reluctant students were scurrying to get to class – not too soon, but quickly enough not to get detention for being late. The day's main conversational subject throughout the school so far had been Friday's activities and the damage that apparently had been done to the house. True to student nature, this only added to the title "_Epic_" that the night had been stapled with, though the homecoming parents apparently hadn't been of the same opinion when they came back Sunday afternoon. To say they were less than thrilled was an understatement.

"_Alfred!"_

After Gilbert had left him, Alfred had returned to his friends outside, danced and drunk the night away. The suffocating hangover he had had Sunday had even allowed him to forget his conversation with Gill for the majority of the day, the memory only coming back when he was going to bed. Monday morning he had resolutely locked the conversation away from attention, and in school he was just as engrossed in discussing the Friday night, enthusiastically comparing hangover pains with other students. The word going around as also that the house had belonged to a second year, though what people claimed was the student's name kept changing.

Alfred was in the middle of a spirited conversation about the extent of the damages, when he heard his name through the noise of students on break. Motioning for his mates to continue on, he turned around in the packed hallway. Teens with maths books, English literature books, history books, religion, physiology, and a series of other books most students weren't sure what actually were for, met him wherever he looked, but one who could have been callin-

Wait, rewind. There.

"Alfred!"

Between two giggling girls, a white haired head popped out. The two girls squealed with surprise, Gill flashing them a grinning "_Entschuldigung",_ before tackling Alfred's neck.

"He said yes."

Alfred quirked an eyebrow, and began walking again, Gill in tow still attached to his neck. "Who? To what?" Gilbert rolled his eyes.

"Arthur. The school president. Remember? It's only been two days," he shook his head, snickering at the frown and ever so slightly sheepish look on Alfred's face – not so much because he had forgotten for a second (_hah!_ As if he could have, despite his efforts this morning), but the thought of actually going through with it… Alfred suddenly felt silly. He was thinking far too hard on this. Gilbert had been drunk when he came up with the idea, surely he wasn't actually serious. Right? Anytime now Gill would cackle like he always did and say it was all a joke an-

"I was up in the principal's office for a reprimand, and Arthur was there, so I asked."

Alfred was ripped out of his train of thought, abruptly wide eyed with horror. "With the principal in the room?"

Gilbert laughed. "Yeah, and he said he wouldn't mind joining in too, wouldn't that be awesome?" Alfred firmly believed his and Gill's opinion of awesome was widely different. Normally he would have brushed the joke off with a fitting gesture, but at the moment he was too busy stressing out. "But nah," Gill continued, "I asked him in the hallway afterwards." He patted Alfred's back as the blond let out a small breath.

"Here's his number," Gilbert then carried on, producing a yellow post-it note he pushed into Alfred's hand, Alfred realising the albino was actually frickin' serious. "He said to give a call whenever you got time. But I gotta run, promised Antonio to help him with some stuff before second period starts, so see ya later. And good luck." With a last pat Gill took off, flipping a girl's skirt in the process, his laughter resounding through the hallway and blending with the noise of students as the girl screamed profanities after him.

Alfred looked down at the little note. At some point during their little talk he had stopped walking again, not noticing when, students pressing past him without offering him a second glance. The numbers had clearly been jotted down in a hurry, and were a tad difficult to interpret. Gill's writing, no doubt. A split second Alfred imagined himself calling the wrong number, and how hilariously embarrassing that would be. Then his mood fell again, and he stared at the writing. To give him a call whenever he had the time, was it? Alfred rubbed his forehead sporadically, giving a single breathed chuckle with nearly desperate humour, clutching the piece of paper. This situation was so _absurd_.

* * *

><p><strong><strong>AN: First chapter. What do you think? :D (It's unbetaed, btw, just so you know in case you find mistakes).<strong>**

****Also, the cover-image-thing was not made by me. So I take no credit for it whatsoever.****

* * *

><p><strong>EDIT 16.12.2013<strong>

**Rewrote the chapter. Still unbetaed though. :p**


	2. Chapter 2

Three days. Alfred stared at the screen of his iPhone and the glaring numbers of his calendar as he swapped through different applications, not listening at all to the teacher's speech about algebra and what-not. Three days since Gilbert gave him that fated yellow post-it note.

Alfred sighed heavily, looking up at the black board. In the few moments he had been looking at his iPhone, the board had been filled with chalk scribbles, numbers and unintelligible signs, and what was supposed to be their maths assignment for the week. He did his best to suppress a new deep groan, dropping his gaze back to the phone to play Angry Birds. He _could_ just drop it. It was not like his fate was sealed just because he had the president's number, surely loads of people had it. Yes, that was it. He could just drop it, throw the note away and never think about it again. If Gill asked, he could just say he had found someone else, or some other bullshit.

His chest felt immediately lighter as he decided this. Yes, there was no need to go around feeling nervous about something he didn't actually have to do. He nodded to himself, smiling, despite the 'game over' blinking on his screen.

However, that also meant resigning to falling silent when others talked about their experiences in the matter at hand. Sure, he could laugh at a crude sex joke, he knew how to smile, wink and subtly flex his muscles to make a girl go weak at the knees, and how to entertain her in an implicating fashion. But any farther than that and he was in complete unknown territory – not to mention he would never actually do it with a girl anyway.

It made him think of something Gilbert had said a few days after his confession, _"imagine what the girls in your class would say if they knew you weren't actually sexually attracted to them_". He smiled dimly at the resulting imaginary scenario the comment had created. But even if no one ever got to know he was gay, just imagine what they would think of him if it got out he was very much a virgin.

He was the guy who made glasses look hot, he was the one who always got invited to parties, and whom everyone seemed to want to socialise with. And this was him not even bragging, it was just who he was. It was sort of expected of a guy like him to have done _it_ at least a trillion times – and idiotic stereotype (oh, how he wanted to strangle it), but sadly very much everyone's automatic view of him. He wanted so bad to be able to partake in such discussions and actually know what he was talking about (teens rarely seemed to talk about much else for more than five minutes at the time), it was silly perhaps, and shallow maybe, but he was frustrated and embarrassed. He hated the feeling of uncertainty that always appeared when someone broached the subject, everyone chipping in with their stories, looking expectantly to him. He fabricated lies every now and again, though he was always worried he would get a detail wrong and be called out on it. Alfred stared blankly into the air, the heavy feeling returning.

Slowly he reached into his pocket and looked at the crumpled piece of paper he pulled from it. It would be nice to join the ranks of those who 'had done it'. He gazed at the numbers. But what if the president started asking questions? He frowned, punching the numbers into his phone, then clicking _save_. What if the president felt like telling everyone afterwards? Alfred didn't feel like having the entire school –or anyone, for that matter- know of his sexual preferences. Gilbert was the only one who knew, even he had just found out by chance, and Alfred would like for it to stay that way. …Maybe the president had some sort of silence policy-thing?

He opened a new message. At any rate, getting rid of his virginity once and for all would solve some of his problems. He didn't need to talk to the president again after that. He only needed to do it once, to have some validity to add to his lies.

_What's up? This is Alfred F. Jones. _

Yes, it was best to play it cool and safe. Mention just his own name first, to make sure he had not gotten the wrong number. To say the wrong things to the wrong person would not be good – not to mention the tiny off chance Gilbert was playing a really well executed practical joke on him. Part of his mind wished for that, the other part annoyed that only one part wished it. Gah, this was confusing.

_Send._

There, he had done it. He had contacted the student presiden-

Shit.

He had done it. Shit, shit, _shit_. Alfred squeezed the phone with both hands, eyes wide open as his body went cold. He had actually sent it. Now what? He got the sudden urge to run away somewhere. Too bad the teacher was between him and the door.

"Alright, breathe. This is all going to work out just fine. You can still go back. Just say you sent the message to the wrong person. It's fine. You'll do just fine," Alfred mumbled to himself, nodding several times and pulling in deep breathes to re-obtain his ordinary cool exterior. Yes, that was it. He was cool. He was handsome and popular, had several girls at his feet, and he knew it. He was the quarter back of his football team. What was he doing, getting so freaked out over sending one little message? It wasn't like he had written anything stupid or bad in i-

The phone vibrated. Alfred nearly dropped it.

_Are you not supposed to be in class?_

Any cold sweat, nervous trembling or anything else his body had just been doing died away instantly. Alfred lifted his brows, staring at the screen perplexed. Before he could give it much thought, he had replied.

_I am. Aren't _you_ supposed to be in class? _

Five seconds. The phone vibrated again.

_If you are, then pay attention to the teacher. _

_I'm the student president. _

He was the student president. What kind of excuse was that for not being in class? Alfred frowned, eyebrows still lifted high, getting ready to write a reply when his phone vibrated in his hands again.

_When do you have time off?_

Alfred looked puzzled at the message.

_What do you mean?_

He waited. Five seconds. This student president guy sure was quick. Didn't he have anything better to be doing right now?

_You are the boy Gilbert was talking about, are you not?_

Oh, right. In the surprise Alfred had managed to completely forget about that. He swallowed a lump materializing from nowhere and tried to ignore his palms as they started to feel clammy.

_Yeah._

Was all he replied.

_Then when do you have some time off? I have a busy schedule, but it is reasonably flexible, so just name a day. _

Alfred's mouth was dry. He stared at the phone, completely failing to notice the several heads turning in his direction and the teacher staring at him with that cool, patient, impatience only teachers could pull off. "Do you have the answer on your mobile phone, Jones?" The teacher's voice sounded not the least bit amused. The mention of his name jerked Alfred out of his thoughts, and he looked up, completely bewildered.

"I don't know," he said, his tongue feeling uncomfortable in his dry mouth. "Sir," he added, feeling it would be a smart move to do so. The teacher sighed and smacked his tongue disapprovingly.

"Then it should not be a problem if I look after it for the rest of the lesson."

Alfred nodded dumbly, and just watched as the teacher took his phone and put it in the drawer of his desk at the front of the classroom, before returning to his preaching of… eh… _whatever_ it was he had been trying to teach them the past few weeks. Alfred tried to pay attention, he honestly did -anything to get his mind off of things. Needless to say though, it didn't work very well. One of the girls a few rows in front turned around and mouthed "_are you okay?"_. That certainly didn't make him feel any better.

By the end of the lesson his heart was at the bottom of his feet and he couldn't decide on what to do. What he pointedly avoided doing though, was look at his phone when he got it back. He stuffed it in his pocket and didn't take it out until he was at home (he had even nearly forgotten to wait for his twin brother, before getting on the bus) and gone to bed. He pulled in a deep breath and crept under the covers before he held the phone up in front of his face.

One message.

_How about this Friday at nine? _

This Friday. Alfred's brain was blank for a split second. Today was Monday. Four days. His heart began to race.

_Ok._

He clicked send before his mind could catch up with his actions and stop him. He breathed out slowly, laying the phone on the nightstand. However, he had only just turned over on the side to try falling asleep when his phone vibrated and buzzed on the wooden surface. He nearly elevated from the mattress as he flipped back around, grabbing the phone again.

_Good. My place or yours? _

His heart hammered away.

_Yours._

He could hear the steps of his mother on the other side of the door as he punched send.

_Alright. _

And that was that. The student president didn't send any more texts. Neither did Alfred. He held onto the phone for a while, simply staring out into the air, his chest all but pulsating with the thumps of his heart.

An unknown amount of time later he put the phone down and again turned over to sleep.

* * *

><p>"Good morning, Alfred-san. …Are you feeling okay?"<p>

Alfred yawned, widely and loudly and waved a hand at the Asian third year eyeing him with soft worry. Maybe it had something to do with the annoyingly dark bags he had had under his eyes when he looked himself in the mirror that morning. Or it could be something else; Asian's seemed to have this slightly different view of the world, like some seventh sense. Alfred suppressed another yawn.

"Mornin' Kiku. Yea, I'm fine." He ruffled a hand through his hair, in an attempt at looking more refreshed. "Just much to do at school."

The black haired upperclassman, who had been one of Alfred's best friends ever since he first walked into the computer lab on the second day of school, hesitated but apparently decided to let it be. Instead he reached into his bag and pulled out a few rectangular plastic cases. "These are the games I told you about," he said, handing them to Alfred. Alfred's eyes lit up. This was quite the usual routine for the two boys, Kiku having a seemingly endless selection of games Alfred had never seen before. He inspected the covers, and grinning widely he could feel his gaming fingers itching. Asian's certainly had both a seventh and eight sense – at least when it came to games if nothing else. If this couldn't get his mind off of things, he didn't know what would.

And so that was how he got through the week, by trying not to think about _it_. He played computer games and spent as much time as homework and dinnertime allowed him, just like normal. He even obliged his brother in a few card games. But at night, however, when he was safe beneath the covers in the dark of his own bedroom, nothing available to avert his attention, his mind wandered. What was it like, exactly? …How much would it hurt?

Four days seemed like forever and to pass in the blink of an eye all at the same time. When Thursday rolled around, Alfred's stomach had still not decided on whether it should be bubbling with excitement or turning with nervousness. He had not told anyone either, not even his twin brother. Only Gilbert knew, and during these past few days he had been regularly checking up on Alfred, whom each time had played it cool and grinned. But now the final lesson for the day was drawing to an end, and as Alfred opened his school planner to jot down the teacher's message for the day, an odd form of nervousness had manifested his body.

Paging through the calendar until he reached the date for the next day he raised his pen to write down the teacher's note. Above the few lines designated for each day of the year, a few names were always listed. Alfred briefly read the ones for tomorrow while jotting down the little note. _Arthur_.

His pen made a long line across the thin page, crossing into Sunday and Saturday territory. Oh what irony that Arthur's name day was tomorrow.

* * *

><p><strong><strong>AN: So that was the 2nd chapter. :) And I am so so so sorry for taking so long to update. All I got is really the ordinary excuses: I have been busy with school, and lately I have been busy with the Christmas holidays as well. <strong>**

****I have also been busy with another story of mine, which is sort of on the top of my fan fic priority list at the moment. "Before they learn to swim". I'd be more than happy if you checked that out while waiting for updates on this story. :) ****

****Thank you so much to those of you who reviewed and faved. You are my heroes. :D See you next time. ****

****-Oh, and btw: this chapter wasn't beated either, and I have sort of given up trying to find one through the beta-search system, as no one will answer me. So if there's anyone out there who has some spare time to lend me a hand, I'd more than happy to marry you. ********Or so to speak. ^^; Thanks again. ****


	3. Chapter 3

He had been a nervous wreck the entire day. Well, he hoped he hadn't _looked_ like he was one, but he had certainly been one on the inside. The thing was, it wasn't even that ordinary type of nervousness. If nervousness gave you cold sweat and an icy-cold-ish feeling in the stomach, then this was more like a temperature-less, numb sensation of everything being slightly unreal. It didn't help that he was bouncing between this and electric excitement in uneven intervals, like some mood crazed chick. When it came down to it, he just couldn't picture himself on the infamous school president's bed losing his virginity. It was strange. It was simply just too out of the ordinary.

He spent the day trying to copy his own usual behaviour as closely as he could, and he must have been doing a good job, for no one seemed to notice anything was up. Alfred humoured himself by entertaining the idea of pursing acting and becoming world famous with his amazing skills of pretend. Really, there was only one person who looked his way every now and again with a soft frown, and that was his brother, Matthew. A boy who would have been the spitting image of Alfred, had it not been for his longer and wavier hair, not to mention his completely different demeanour.

Wait, make that two people: At the half-time break, otherwise called _lunch_, Kiku sent a few glances Alfred's way in the school cantina, though he didn't say anything.

But while Kiku didn't really surprise him, Alfred was clueless as to how he had ended up worrying his brother. As far as he was concerned, he had been pretty good at making himself forget everything going on while he was home. It was the curse of being twins. Sometimes he could have sworn his brother had some kind of weird psychic power. As the day dragged on, Alfred avoided lengthy talks with Matthew (which would have been a disguise for trying to prove nothing was wrong, and ultimately would have been perceived as just that) and the little looks gradually lessened.

As one of Alfred's friends told their usual group of this wicked move he had done on his skateboard, Alfred silently noticed the clock on the wall closing in on the ending of the day and could feel his pulse picking up ever so slightly. It was funny though, he didn't feel the least bit tired. He had barely slept a wink, and his alarm clock had even been set to ring an hour and fifteen minutes earlier than usual.

* * *

><p>The digital numbers showed six when he drowsily lifted the blinking mobile phone to his face. One split second, before his brain had gotten its gears grinding properly, he wondered if he had turned on the alarm an hour early by mistake. The next, he was up on his feet, almost falling flat on his face as his left foot was caught in the covers, and sprinted to the bathroom.<p>

He rubbed and polished his body with practically all and any soaps he found –all the soaps that didn't smell like roses, of course. He might swing _that way_, but he sure as flipp didn't have to go around smelling like it. Especially not when he was meeting the school president, whom he had heard was in possession of quite the sarcastic tongue.

After exiting the shower, he shaved his face. Halfway through he stopped, briefly wondering if maybe the president liked stubble. Then he reminded himself the guy was straight and just fucking guys for the fuck's sake – as Gill had worded it – and shaved the rest of his face. He put some aftershave lotion on his skin before turning to his junk. After a little while, he had to lift his leg and lean his foot against the sink, standing in an altogether awkward pose, to reach certain spots.

That's when the door handle was pushed down. And that was also when Alfred thought he would die. Seconds later, he thanked his lucky star for having locked the door – and for not having cut his balls off when he had jumped with surprise.

"Alfred? Is that you?" the tired voice of his mother sounded from the other side of the door.

"Uh, yeah," Alfred replied, busy trying to calm his heart so he could get back to his previous occupation.

"But, what are you doing up so early?" she sounded confused, and he really couldn't blame her. Alfred rarely woke up any earlier than twenty minutes before he had to go.

"Just getting an early start, Ma," Alfred replied quickly. A few moments passed, and then he could hear her steps vanishing up the stairs and probably to the kitchen.

Twenty-five minutes later Alfred had done everything he could think of. He had showered, every part he deigned suitable shaven and soft, he had applied his deodorant, brushed and styled his hair, spent twice as long as normal getting dressed and even polished his glasses. That last thing he would have to do over again, of course, but he had just felt like doing it when he was preparing so carefully anyway.

He then ran upstairs, ate, packed his bag and returned to the bathroom. While packing his bag he had also grabbed a pair of condoms from his secret storage just in case. Well, now that he thought about it, he wasn't really sure if he would need them. It's not like guys could get pregnant anyway. But he supposed it was good to have them just for the sake of having them. After a moment of considering how this sex business was actually going to go down, he decided it was definitely good to have them, for sanitary reasons if anything.

With still ten minutes left until he had to leave for the bus, Alfred was still there, looking at his face carefully. He had cut his nails and applied some hand cream to his hands as well, as an afterthought. Now he stood leaned across the sink and looking closely at himself in the mirror. Was there anything else he could improve? He pulled a little at his eyes, his chin and then his lips. His cheeks were as soft as could be after the shave, so that was alright. He wondered, should he use some lip balm, maybe?

Seconds later, Alfred laughed, leaned away from the glass surface, called for Matthew and left for the bus. _Talk about over-exaggerating._

* * *

><p>The teacher smacked his book closed. "Alright, that's all for today. I expect to have your assignments sent to me by Wednesday. Have a nice weekend."<p>

Cheers resonated through the room. After five days, it was the long-awaited weekend at last, and the eager chatter of who was going where, and doing what, erupted from all the twenty six students' mouths at the same time as if on cue. Alfred would have normally been adding to it, but right then he was too busy slowly packing his bag to pay attention.

"Alfred."

He snapped his head up. Next to his desk, with bag in hand, stood his twin brother. Alfred made a great show of slouching back in his chair a little and grinning lopsidedly, as he often did.

"Yo Matthew, what's up?"

"I am going home, are you coming?" said Matthew.

"Nah," Alfred returned to stuffing laptop and books into his bag again. "I'm staying over at a friend's place." He could feel his stomach tie a knot on itself at the word _friend_, but played it cool. He usually stayed over at people's houses anyway. Matthew nodded.

"Okay," was all he said. Alfred glanced up again.

"Tell mom, would ya?"

"Sure. Have fun," Matthew smiled, went to exchange a few words with a couple other people in the class, then left. Soon the rest followed him, Alfred's friends pouting playfully at their comrade not being free for a Friday's drink.

Alfred sat in the classroom for a few more minutes by himself after they had all left. In fact, he didn't move until a teacher poked his head in the door, looking surprised at seeing a student still there. Alfred got up, flashed the teacher a grin, and left before the teacher could ask any questions. _Questions_ being one (or twenty) of those bothersome ones that all teachers seemed obliged, close to obsessed, to ask at the least sign to abnormality. The, "are you alright?"s, "is everything alright at home?"s, "are you doing okay in school?"s, and, of course the "are someone bothering you?". Alfred didn't know a single student who willingly answered those questions to a random teacher, unless they were strapped down and cornered with no escape.

By the time he exited the gate it was already quarter to four. He had checked his watch five times while walking through the big main gate, so there was no doubt. This meant only five hours to go until nine o'clock. Strictly speaking, he could actually have gone with his friends. Idly fiddling with the gate lock of the open gate, he got a little angry with himself for saying no when they asked. It would be a little early to start the heavy drinking – or drinking at all – at four, but they could have gone, grabbed a bite, and then gone round to someone's house for a beer around six or seven before continuing from there. To drown his nervousness in alcohol was a very inviting thought. But, he told himself, he really should have all his brain cells intact for this, lest he do something more embarrassing than what he was already about to do.

So, letting go of the gate, Alfred first decided to make sure he knew where the school president lived. He had heard the guy rented an apartment ten minutes or so from school. Apparently, his parents were well off, but lived a long drive from here and had invested in an apartment for their son. Alfred walked around for a little while before he found it; a nice-looking complex with a tell-tale 'Arthur Kirkland' tag on one of ten doorbells assuring him he had found the right place.

Alfred decided to find a place to sit and waste the remaining time on his computer and eating dinner. He knew a bloke who worked at the nearby pizza restaurant and knew they would let him sit there for several hours without weird glances.

On the way there, he dropped by a grocery store and bought lip balm.

* * *

><p>Holy fuck, his nervousness had developed into full fledge nausea. He was tingling all the way down to his toes, feeling downright dizzy, and had to seriously pull himself together not to lean weakly against the wall as he looked at the little, white doorbell.<p>

Alright, he was here, no turning back now. This was what he wanted, after all. So, deep breath in, long breath out. _One, two, push._

There was a buzzing sound from the small speaker above the doorbells. Surely, nothing more than five seconds passed, and then there was a small click and a voice following it.

"_Yes?_"

Alfred forced his dry voice box into action.

"Hi, it's Alfred." Then he quickly added, "Jones."

"_Ah, right. Come right up, it's on the third floor."_

Another click followed, which was probably the president hanging up, and the speaker went dead. Then the door buzzed softly and Alfred grabbed it, swinging it open and slipped into the cool stairwell. He climbed up to the first floor in an okay tempo, one door meeting him at either side of the little platform. He continued up to the second floor, still at a reasonable pace. From second to third he still kept the same rhythm, though a chilling sensation spread from his spine to the rest of his body and his feet felt decidedly a lot heavier.

He looked up. There, in the doorway, leaning against the frame with crossed arms, watching him, stood the school president.

Alfred stopped, six steps from the third floor platform, and didn't even notice that he did. His eyes were locked on to the president standing above him. The guy was still dressed in his school uniform, despite being at home, and he looked so calm as he gazed back down at Alfred with glittering green eyes.

Then the president pushed away from the doorframe and returned inside the apartment. Though Alfred was sure – or at least, almost sure – that he had spotted the slightest of smirks on the president's face just as he had turned away.

"Are you going to come inside or keep standing there?"

Alfred jerked, noticing his standing still in the middle of the stairs, hurried up the remaining few steps and entered the apartment as well, closing the door carefully behind him.

The place was incredibly tidy. Stylish, but in a classy way, a pallet of light earth colours, and all in all just really nice. The school president's parents obviously valued good interior. Alfred curiously poked his head into the sitting room. It was neat and had alphabetically ordered books in two book cases to the left and an assortment of plants in the sill of a single, wide window stretching nearly from one end of a wall to the other.

"Is there anything you would like?"

Alfred jumped – though just very, very slightly of course –, looking back at the school president. He was loosening his tie with one hand, shifting through a few papers on the coffee table with the other.

"Were you working?" Alfred asked, quickly nodding to the papers and the president's uniform in general when the school president glanced at him.

"I came back from school an hour ago. While I waited for you, I got ahead on next week's assignments," the president shrugged, leisurely leaving his tie across the back of the couch.

"I didn't think there was so much to do in the student council," Alfred admitted, honestly surprised. A small smile flickered across the other's face.

"There normally isn't. But, this is the beginning of the year, and there is always a lot to plan then. Besides, I prefer to do most of the work myself."

Alfred frowned with lifted brows, but before he could ask anything more the student president left the papers and looked directly at him.

"Are you hungry? Is there anything I can get you?"

Caught in a kind of blank perplexity, Alfred just shook his head. "No," he finally said. "I'm good."

"Will you be staying over or going home?" the student president asked, and it hit Alfred how coolly the guy was talking. This really was to nothing new for him.

Alfred was about to answer, "Home," in reflex, but then stopped himself. He came to remember he had told Matthew to tell their mum that he wouldn't come home tonight, and he realised he had just automatically thought he would be sleeping over at the president's place without even _considering_ the fact that he could actually just go home afterwards. He cursed himself for his own stupidity, or thoughtlessness, or both. After all, it wasn't like what they were doing was going to take all night.

He was really temped to say "home" now, but at the same time he sort of didn't want to since he had already told Matthew-

"You are staying here?" The school president pulled him out of his train of thoughts.

"Uh, well, I thought," he mumbled.

"That is fine by me," the president cut him short and shrugged again. "But I will be leaving early tomorrow, so you will have to lock yourself out."

"Oh. _Oh,_ that's- that's okay. I don't mind."

"Alright, but tomorrow is far away, so are you sure you would not like something to eat first?" The school president still looked so calm and natural. Alfred supposed that since the guy was getting up early tomorrow, he would prefer not to get out of bed to eat after they were done. Alfred would hate to wake him up in the middle of the night because he was hungry too, so he concluded that he really should get something to eat.

"An apple," he finally mumbled, before he added a hastened, "please." The school president nodded and motioned for him to follow him to the kitchen. There he washed a nice looking red apple and handed it to Alfred.

"Are you not gonna eat anything?" Alfred asked.

"No, I just ate."

They were completely silent the entire time while Alfred ate. Neither of them sat, the school president leaning against the kitchen counter and Alfred was standing in the middle of the room holding the apple with both hands. Only the sounds of his teeth cutting through the fruit and chewing breaching the air between them.

It felt like the longest minutes that he had ever spent eating an apple.

When he finally threw the stalk in the bin – he had eaten the apple pip –, he could have been convinced an entire hour had passed. The president asked if he needed to use the bathroom, to which Alfred said yes please. He was showed a clean, white door and then the one leading to the bedroom, before the president disappeared through the latter of the two. Alfred fled into the bathroom.

Once inside and with the door locked, he began pacing.

_Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god, oh Jesus Christ!_

He stopped, having to grab onto the sink to keep himself from starting to walk around again, and stared straight at his own white face in the mirror.

_So, this is it. Now you're here. _His breath fogged up the glass as he stared at himself. _This is it. You're gonna be fine. He knows what he's doing. Now you just have to get through it. It's gonna be fine._

A tiny smile flittered across his face. And before his feet could get too cold he quickly went to the toilet, washed his hands thoroughly, tried regaining some of his normal facial colour and braved the outside of the bathroom with a deep breath.

He paused briefly in the hallway, suddenly getting an odd comical feeling of standing in-between two worlds as he looked at the entrance door and the bedroom door. Then, without further ado, he pushed open the bedroom door and stepped inside.

The school president stood by a window at the opposite end of the room. The window was open, sounds of cars passing by and distant chatter slipping into the room. The president must have heard him though, for he shut the window and turned around. He was shirtless Alfred suddenly noticed and caught himself in shortly looking for the shirt. He glanced back at the president.

The guy was not of the bulky muscular type, but Alfred still had a feeling the president had plenty of strength in his body. He was of that slim yet athletic built, and honestly, he didn't look bad. Alfred pressed his lips together, ever so slightly sheepishly looking away from the president. A chuckle ringing through the air made his stomach go cold and quiver.

"You are allowed to look, you know."

Alfred carefully looked back at the president, the president just standing there with his body on display, glittering eyes and the hint of a smirk in the corners of his mouth. Alfred coughed and swallowed to get some moisture back in his throat.

"So," he said slowly, "How exactly," he wasn't sure where to put his gaze. "How exactly do we go about this?"

"This is your first time, isn't it?" the president asked leisurely. Alfred tried not to let his discomfort at the question show. The president either didn't notice, or he ignored it. "Don't worry," he said. "I'll be gentle. Just follow my lead." With those words, he had crossed the floor and was standing in front of Alfred. He looked at him, and though Alfred was, in reality, a few inches both taller and wider, Alfred suddenly felt a lot smaller than him.

The president reached up, briefly sliding his finders across Alfred's cheek before gently grabbing his neck and pulling him down for a kiss. It was simple and innocent at first, but then Alfred could feel the president push stronger against him, slowly moving his lips, coaxing Alfred to open his mouth slightly. Alfred was by no means a stranger to kissing however, and after the initiate bashful hesitancy, a sort of self-righteous determination took over. He fully intended to prove he wasn't entirely useless. He pushed back, adding more weight and depth to the kiss – or what really was quite the make-out session going on –, angling his head more. Of course, normally, his hands would be joining in on the whole ordeal, but at the moment they were just jittering unsurely at his sides. He kept second guessing every move he was about to make. It almost felt as though he would get an electric shock if he dared touch the president. Terrified of making mistakes, his arms remained hanging.

Somewhere amidst all of this, the president had slid an arm around Alfred's waist and began walking slowly backwards, leading Alfred with him. The president managed to turn them around without Alfred noticing. He kept not noticing it until he was pushed backwards, one second panicking that he would hit the floor, but was instead met by the soft covers of the president's double bed.

Alfred lay on his back for a second before the president jerked his head upwards and Alfred took the hint, crawling backwards further onto the bed. The president's lips slightly curved, he put his hands to the bed and followed, crawling up Alfred's body on all fours. When he stopped, he reached his hands to Alfred's face and easily slipped the glasses off him. He laid them on a nightstand on the right side of the bed, Alfred briefly glancing at it before he was made to look back at the president, a gentle hand on his cheek guiding him, and he was engaged in another deep kiss. The hand trailed across his skin, tracing the shell of his ear with a light touch, brushed through hair, then rested against the pillow next to Alfred's head. He barely noticed, apart from the immediate reaction of missing the touch, but it was interrupted as he could feel another hand slipping under the edge of his shirt, pushing it slowly up across his stomach. Alfred's muscles tensed minutely at the feel of air and intimate touch. He had had more than enough of girls feeling him up in alcohol induced moments, but never had it left quite such a hot trail or made his self-consciousness skyrocket as it did now.

Alfred's eyes squeezed shut – he didn't know when he had first closed them. The president's hand began rubbing in small circles, and not long after Alfred found himself automatically relaxing into the soft covers.

The president's mouth left him, breath ghosting across his cheek. The hand likewise left his skin and followed the outside of his shirt, but Alfred didn't notice the first button being popped open as hot breath was brushing his ear. The most incredible, anticipating tingle ran through his body, taking Alfred completely by surprise. But he had no time to pay attention to it, for the president clearly saw it fit to scrape his teeth softly over the lobe of his ear just then. With the next button, the student president gave a small bite, and sparks lighted all along Alfred's spine and straight to his groin. He had never thought such little touches could have such an impact – it never had before. Then again, those times had always been with girls, and they didn't exactly do it for him, he supposed.

The president moved along Alfred's neck, nibbling and kissing a slow path, flicking a button undone with each ministration. Finally, the last button must have been made away with, for hands brushed against Alfred's shoulders, and he moved and lifted his back bit by bit obligingly as the president peeling the shirt off him with such skilful ease Alfred was momentarily quite astonished. Then this was completely wiped from his mind as the president slowly lowered his body to rest atop Alfred. Warm, naked skin against his own, the mere weight of the president pressing against him feeling so strangely amazing and accelerating. He was hit with the urge to wrap both arms tightly around the president, but that strong self-conscience from before was ever present, and he still didn't know quite how to appropriately touch the president without making a fool of himself. But he felt kind of certain a hug would not be the right way to go, so his arms remained motionless on the bed.

The president's breath was damp against Alfred's neck, and as he now did not have to support himself on his hands, he had one entangled enticingly in Alfred's hair, the other resting somewhere on Alfred's upper arm. The president's hot trail reached the name of Alfred's neck and stopped, then the president made a little bite and sucked. Alfred moaned involuntarily, colour immediately prickling across his cheeks at the sound of his own voice for the first time. However, from his neck came a chuckle and a low humming. "That's what you're supposed to sound like." The president's hand curled into a fist in Alfred's hair and his head was pulled to the side, exposing more of his neck. The forceful action only added to the sensation as the president licked the nape of his neck and bit him. Hard. Warmth pooled in the Alfred's gut, and before he could stop himself, he had grind his hips upwards. The president chuckled huskily.

"I thought you'd like a bit of rough play."

Alfred groaned as the president proceeded to push his groin back against him, and the friction just felt so god damned amazing all thought and common sense evaporated from his mind at once. Why had he been nervous again? The president shifted, the pressure of him lightening slightly. But Alfred was having none of that. His hands automatically snapped up, grabbed the president's hips and forced him back down, grinding their groins together again, harder than before. He could hear the president make an amused snort.

"Easy big boy, or you won't last very long."

Alfred frowned, his eyes opening – when had he closed them again? –, _some_ sense returning to him. The president was sitting upright, straddling him, Alfred's hand clamped firmly on either side of his hips. Somehow, the view, in all it's simplicity, made Alfred's heart beat faster and the warmth in his gut intensify. A smirk twisted one corner of the president's mouth. Alfred realised with a blush that the other had probably felt it. Then the president pushed his hips down, swivelling them, and Alfred's brief bashfulness disappeared immediately as his head leaned back, his eyes shut and a throaty moan came from him.

Out of nowhere, the president's lips were on his again, and Alfred had no reservations of delving hungrily into it. Their breathing was ragged, and Alfred's hands tightened on the president's hips. At any other moment, Alfred would have been aware of bruising, but right then and there he did not have any spare capacity to notice. Either way, the president said nothing of it.

Far too soon it was over, the president leaving him briefly before his teeth were scraping gently across Alfred's collar bone. From there, the older teen took his sweet time tasting, and softly – and sometimes not so softly – biting the skin of Alfred's chest and lower torso. He traced the line of every muscle, all the way humming lowly. As he moved slowly downward, he shifted so he was crawling backwards down Alfred's legs. The loss of pressure against his crotch made him nearly growl instinctively, which in turn made the president chuckle and glance up to meet Alfred's stare with amusedly glinting eyes. The president cupped one single hand over the bulge in Alfred's pants, but the touch was far from satisfying. Frustratingly enough, every time Alfred pushed his hips up, the president retreated away from him. Alfred clutched onto the sheets, slamming his head back into the pillows.

The president painstakingly worked his way down, twirling his tongue around Alfred's bellybutton, nipped on the fine hair leading from it, and then two teasing fingers finally traced across Alfred's skin, along the hem of his pants. He propped himself up on his elbows just in time to see, just as he felt, the president nuzzle his nose against the hard bulge in his pants. Alfred's head dropped back as he strangled another moan.

His belt was removed, the button and zip undone, and Alfred lifted his hips, in a heated second all too eager to comply when the president tugged on his pants. Then a tiny whisper in the back of his mind woke him up slightly as he watched. Several hours prior, this very bit had been the source of some trepidation and hesitation on Alfred's part. Sudden, heavy embarrassment made his skin tingle and stomach turn. His pants were removed and then the president hiked his fingers in the hem of his boxers. Alfred nearly had the will to curl into a ball, or something, but the president sat between his legs, so he felt slightly demobilised. He shifted slightly without meaning to. The president glanced up, meeting Alfred's eyes. Leaning a hand against his chest, he said, "relax." He pushed Alfred back down into the covers, surprisingly gently. "Relax," he repeated, and Alfred tried.

Okay, he could change in the gym and shower in the school's shared changing room after P.E without any trouble. So why should this be different? But it was. Way, way different. Way more intimate.

"Lift your hips," the school president instructed. Alfred complied, though with far more self-conscious thoughts tumbling in his head this time around. Cool air brushed across him as his boxers were discarded to the floor. The president pressed a few kisses along Alfred's left thigh, his hands resting on Alfred's hips. Several long moments passed until the president ran his fingers across the lower part of Alfred's stomach, and then along his cock. Alfred froze. The president swirled a finger around the swollen tip, and Alfred could feel him grin against his thigh as his breath hitched and caught in his throat. Next, something happened made Alfred gasp and then moan.

Hot and wet pressure closed around his cock, and then began moving, gradually, torturously speeding up. Alfred was in complete bliss, covers a bunch in both his fists, eyes closed and mouth open. He was so lost in it he did not hear a plastic cap pop open, and therefore could not stop to marvel at the student president's incredible multitasking abilities. Alfred noticed nothing until slick, warm fingers pressed gently against his- well- _that_ end. His little world of pleasure went up in smoke and he immediately tensed up.

The president shifted, hiking Alfred's legs up slightly, resting them against his thighs, and leaned up. His hand remained between Alfred's ass cheeks, but he did nothing apart from a subtle stroking-motion with just the fingertips. He gave Alfred a kiss, then bent his head further down, his hair falling in sandy blond tussles over Alfred's face.

"Relax," the president hummed into his ear, giving the shell a soft bite, and Alfred really tried. He pulled in a deep breath, held it briefly, and let it out slowly. "Good," the president encouraged. "That's good. Now relax for me." Slowly, so very, very slowly, one single finger was pressed into him.

It was definitely the weirdest sensation Alfred had ever felt. It didn't hurt, stung slightly initially, perhaps, but that was it. It was simply weird and uncomfortable, rather than painful, as he had imagined. The president slowly wiggled his finger, twisting and turning it a little, taking his time, and-

"What was_ that?" _Alfred groaned. Something had been touched or grazed or _something_, and that something felt very _different_. The president touched the place again and Alfred buried his fingers into the duvet. That had to be what Alfred had heard about. The famous prostate. It was a feeling close to pleasure. Yet it felt sort of numb at the same time, not completely real, as if it was muffled. As the president gradually added another finger and after a long while a third one, Alfred could not feel it anymore. It had been reduced to a dull, faint sensation; the stretch of his skin stung, starting to borderline painful, and was so down straight embarrassing that he didn't have any brain capacity to spare for such.

It felt like forever, and had probably been even longer – no one could say anything on the president's patience –, until the strong discomfort subsided, and Alfred's bowels began gradually unfurling. The worst was over, he thought. Boy was he wrong. Eventually the fingers were pulled out, there were a short pause of nothing, then Alfred could feel something entirely different pushed against him. There was a moment of pressure, then the president's head abruptly slid in. Alfred's mouth sprung open. He gasped heavily. This was nothing like the fingers had been. He heaved for breath a couple of times, eyes staring straight up at the ceiling. He had figured it would hurt – that was somewhat self-explanatory – but had clearly not prepared himself sufficiently. With great effort, Alfred tried to school his features.

The president waited. When Alfred managed to calm somewhat again, he pushed a little further.

Alfred's eyes squeezed shut, and before he could stop himself, his hands flew to the president's hair as a kiss was pressed to his mouth.

"_Fuck,_" Alfred hissed. "No one told me it would hurt like this."

"Try to breathe," the president answered. "It helps. All your muscles are clenching up, that is what is making it hurt. Take slow, deep breaths. That's good." He pushed a little further. An indescribable pain shot up Alfred's spine and he tightened a fist in the president's hair, some weird intention far back in his mind to deal some pain back at the president. He focused on breathing, breathing, breathing, and gave the president a curt nod to keep going.

It didn't take long until he tightened his fist again though, and the president halted. They stayed like that for a little while, Alfred with his eyes closed and brows furrowed as he told himself to pull himself together. This was just ridiculous.

"Alright," Alfred said through gritted teeth. "Keep going. I'm fin-EAAAG! _Fucking hell, how much is left?!_"

The president captured his mouth again. Most likely to shut him up or something of the like, Alfred distantly thought through a haze of prickling discomfort. "Halfway," the president said against his lips. He pushed his hips a little more, Alfred once again all but screaming out in pain. His hands were tight fists in the president's hair, who didn't seem to care. Either that or he was just being extremely tolerant. He probably had good practice in that field when being the student council president, Alfred thought in bitter humour. Meanwhile, a constant chant of "_fuck, fuck, fuck" _played repeatedly in his head.

For every little move the president made, he either whimpered or cursed or pulled at the president's hair, or two of the mentioned things at the same time. Or all three. Somewhere along the way his thighs had begun trembling as well. Well, wasn't that just great. Though in-between the pain, he barely had time to be embarrassed about it. Every muscle in his rear end was protesting against the intrusion. It didn't feel natural. _It_ was too big and he was just too small.

"You are whining quite a lot," the president suddenly commented with ease, looking down at Alfred as he supported himself on his hands. "Is this not what you wanted?" Alfred only managed a half-hearted glare in return. He was entitled to whine when it hurt this much.

"I am entitled to whine when it hurts this much," he said. …And he was entitled to say exactly what he was thinking without thinking twice when it hurt this much too. But he didn't feel like being entitled to saying anything more when seeing the president's humoured look, and not a word was exchanged between them for a while.

It had taken forever, but at last he could feel something lean against his butt cheeks. Most likely and most probably, the president's hip. Meaning; the president was all inside.

"Okay, okay, stop," Alfred breathed. His thighs were still quivering, and though he had really just mostly been lying there on his back he was already starting to feel weary. He let go of the president's hair and let his hands and arms hang loosely around the president's shoulder. He pulled the guy down to him and rested his head against the president's shoulder, hiding his face in the warm nape of the older guy's neck.

Alfred had never talked to the president face to face before today. They didn't know each other at all, except the president now knew his body – or certain parts of it – better than he did himself. His inner voice told him this was no time to be showing his feelings so openly (such as the horribly honest vulnerability as he was displaying at the moment), but he was incapable of listening to it. Alfred knew he would be regretting it like shit tomorrow, that he should have been regretting it like shit right then and there, and that this was all a very bizarrely, absurdly wrong situation. But he was caught in the haze of the moment and could not stop behaving like he did.

For a while, only the sound of their breathing filled the room, the school president remaining completely still. Finally, Alfred retreated slowly from his neck. "Alright, I'm fine." The president nodded and withdrew a little before gently going back in. Alfred doubted he had even withdrawn halfway, but was happy the other was taking it easy on him.

Gradually, the president's speed and force picked up – though very, very gradually so. Around that time, Alfred marvelled over how adaptable the human body really was. It wasn't like it was completely painless just yet, but it wasn't half as bad as before. Actually, it was even less, only a tiny bit of the uncomfortable sensation was left when the president was starting to reach what Alfred decided had to be more of a 'normal' tempo, or whatever.

However, as this kept up and it didn't hurt anymore, Alfred couldn't really feel anything else either. Any pleasure, that is. It wasn't like the school president wasn't good – for he was. His hands seemed to know every little place on his body that felt good, his tongue was just straight out wonderful and the guy wasn't an eyesore, either. It was obvious the rumours were true, and that this president had more than enough experience under his belt. So, the question as to why he didn't feel anything at the moment was something Alfred couldn't answer. Perhaps he wasn't gay after all?

…Alfred stared at the ceiling. He pictured a well-endowed girl and a handsome guy in his head.

Nope, there was no doubt; he was gay. So the cause was something else.

Regardless of whatever the reason was, Alfred could not help start looking for a watch. Because this, regardless of how much attention the president was showing him with his fondling and touching and kissing and nibbling and whatnot, was getting to be boring. Alfred felt like face palming himself. Sheesh, what a thing to be thinking. However, it was true. They must have been going on like this for at least more than an hour, counting in how long it took him to get adjusted. Maybe even two hours – but Alfred wasn't going to start guessing about that. The thing was, seeing as he didn't feel anything and nothing new was happening, he was growing bored… But how do you tell _that_ to your sex partner? Alfred bit his lip and-

"Agh! Stop, wait, stop!" Alfred abruptly jolted to half sit up in the bed, grabbing his own left foot and with his left hand bent his toes up and backwards. "I got a cramp. I got a cramp in my toes," Alfred groaned, hanging onto his foot. Jeez, it hurt. Worst thing of it all; it was completely true too. He had a real cramp, and it really, frickin' _hurt._ This wasn't – to put it mildly – what Alfred had had in mind when he wanted a way to get out of the situation at all. He glanced up at the president, immediately wishing he hadn't. Above him, the school president was looking at him with one lifted eyebrow and what had to be a mixture of a mildly entertained and mildly puzzled look.

Then the dude laughed. Or maybe more like chuckled shortly, green eyes glittering. Alfred grumbled, looking at the wall with a frown, remaining a good hold on his toes. This cramp was persistent.

"You sure are a special one," the president remarked.

"So girls tell me too. But they mean it in a good way," Alfred retorted.

"You are quite different to what I expected when Gilbert told me the school's quarterback wanted an 'appointment' with me." Both the president's voice and eyes were those of unmistakable, humoured teasing – and too clearly showed he was enjoying himself immensely.

"Whatever," Alfred muttered, still not wanting to look directly at the other. There was a short pause. The president broke it.

"Well, I suggest we call it a night. It is getting to be late and I need to wake up early." With that, he pulled himself out of Alfred, though slowly. Something that felt a little weird on Alfred's end, and he almost expected there to be a small popping sound at the end. Of course there wasn't. The president got off him and lay down next to him, on the left side of the bed. Alfred spotted a digital alarm clock on the nightstand next to the president (how on earth had he managed to miss it earlier?), but he looked away before he could see what its numbers read.

As he lay down as well, pulling the shared, big duvet up to his chin, the president said, "Good night."

"Uh, yeah, good night," Alfred dumbly replied.

* * *

><p>How he in the end fell asleep, he didn't know. He had been staring and staring and staring at the wall, his stomach in a strange uproar he couldn't quite define the nature of. The school president on the other hand must have fallen asleep rather quickly. At least it hadn't taken long before Alfred heard the guy's breaths becoming more regular and still. At some point, during his long wake, he had turned around in sudden curiosity. He wasn't sure what he had expected or what he was looking for really, and never got to find out either, for the president lay with his back to him. Alfred hadn't pursued the matter any further and turned back to stare at the wall.<p>

How the president had handled this so easily was another good question. The guy obviously had been hard, otherwise they could not have been doing what they did, yet he had laid down and fallen asleep seemingly without it being a problem. Alfred sighed. Maybe that was what came with a heap of experience: mega control over your junk.

One way or the other, as he brooded over these things, Alfred had fallen asleep. He must have, for he woke up the next morning.

The bed was empty. The school president's side was cold. The blinds were pulled down, though Alfred was quite sure they hadn't been before they began their _business_ the day before. Not dwelling on it, he looked up at the ceiling for a little while, and then turned over on his side to grab his glasses. Under them, there was a white note. Alfred put on the glasses and examined the small piece of paper.

_There's an extra key in the bowl in the hallway. Don't forget to lock the door when you leave, and just hang onto the key and give it back to me on Monday. You are free to use the shower, and take whatever food you want from the kitchen._

_-Arthur_

* * *

><p><strong>EDIT 19.12.2013 Rewritten. Half of it, at least. <strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Original AN:<strong> **And that was the 3rd chapter, betaed by Hitsu4HinaEva –Hari-Sama. I hope you all enjoyed. **

**Now excuse me while I'm totally overjoyed, you see, I just passed my driving test and hot my driving license. So if you need me, I'll be in the eleventh heaven. (eleventh is four heavens **_**above**_** the seventh~) **

**Here, let me explain to you how the whole get-your-driving-license procedure goes down in Norway (where I live), since I'm currently too happy to care whether you find this interesting to read or not: **

**When you're 16 years old you can start practice driving with your parents. **

**You also have to complete a theory course before you are allowed to start with driving lessons from a teacher. **

**You have to take lessons with a teacher to be allowed to get the license. The teacher will teach you all the stuff, and before you can take your license you also have to complete a couple special lessons: **

**Slippery driving (you drive around on a fenced driving ground-thingy covered in some oil stuff. Here you practice driving on slippery roads to be prepared for the winter here. You learn to get control of the car if it spins or loses grip or how to avoid someone who suddenly falls/walks onto the road when it's icy/slippery outside)**

**Dark drive (driving when it's dark out, see the difference and learn the different methods of driving during the day vs the night) **

**Long drive theory (a lesson that talks about security and some rules and stuff that you have to take)**

**Long drive (drive for 3 hours to see that you can keep up your concentration over several hours)**

**Overtaking (a part of the long drive, to teach you how to properly pass by another car, be it on a several-laned road, or through having to pass over in the opposite lane) **

**Guidance drive (it's like a trial driving test) **

**The theory test (you have to take and pass a theory test. It consists of 45 questions and you are allowed to answer wrong 7 times, any more and you'll fail)**

**When you have turned 18 and completed all of these things, you can do the practical test. If you fail that one, you have to wait for two months before you can try again. And I aced the test on the first try. I'm a happy human~**


	4. Chapter 4

Right. Alfred flipped over to lie on his back and stare at the ceiling again, the note in one hand. The ceiling was a cream coloured sort of plate. It wasn't wood, but something else. Come to think of it, he mused as he gazed up, he rarely took notice of what the ceilings of different rooms and houses looked like. Interesting.

But, as he finished letting himself be humoured by this thought, reality came back.

"Aw, geez," Alfred groaned, shoving his glasses up across his forehead and resting his hands on his face. "I did it. I actually did it." He groaned aloud once more just for the sake of it.

"I can't believe it," he whispered, and spread his fingers to peek out through them. "I'm really here," his stomach tingled and churned. "In someone else's flat… because I had sex with that person." The tingling intensified as he just laid there for a few seconds with big eyes, almost not daring to move. He swallowed, rubbed his eyes and pulled in a deep breath. On the exhale, he swiftly turned over and sat up- _immediately regretting it._

"_Holy hell," _he gasped and leaned forward over his knees to lighten the pressure. His eyes darted around the room in a moment of sheer panic at the pain. Then he put two and two together and groaned aloud again. _All right, _he told himself. _One, two, three, four, five, six _and up he sat again –only to lean right back across his knees. With a surrendering groan, he hugged his knees, lying against his thighs, and remained like that for a while. This time the floor ended up being subjected to his staring. That he did this, however, let him notice something else: another small, white note. It was stuck to the floor under his toes, but his feet did not cover the writing on it, so he could read it without having to pick it up.

"Take your time, your arse will hurt for a while..." he slowly read aloud. Alfred stared, perplexed, at it for a whole of fifteen seconds. "...What?"

Had this note been on the nightstand together with the other note, but had fallen down? He frowned and reached down to pick it up. However, he discovered he couldn't; it was taped to the floor. "What the...? Why did he do that?" How could he have been so sure Alfred would rea– Oh. _T__hat smug bastard._

Alfred glared at the note. So, the school president had his every move all figured out, huh? He sure was full of himself.

The sudden fuelled anger (or stubbornness, or indignation, or a mix of all three) made him stand right up and stride with long, fast steps to the bathroom, regardless of the state of his bottom. Once there, he took a quick piss, discovered he was very naked, and had to return to the bedroom, much to his chagrin. He looked around for his clothes, even bending down with a grimace to look under the bed. But, he could not find them. He turned around to return to the bathroom, his burning indignation dampened somewhat by his rising confusion.

And there they were. On a chair by the door, neatly folded and piled. All frustration completely gone now, he shuffled over to the chair and picked up in his clothes in wonder. Okay, so… maybe the guy wasn't so bad overall?

He got dressed and went for the kitchen next. On the counter top, another white note had been left, accompanied by a small, rectangular box_. "Here are some painkillers. We cannot have you return to your family like a whining baby."_ Nope, the guy was definitely an ass. Besides, it wasn't even hurting that much! After the intial urprise and he had eased down, he was fine. Not looking forward to taking a dump, but that was something else entirely.

Alfred slammed the box –which, after a little bit of inspection, showed to contain small, white pills- down on the counter. He proceeded to grab an apple, hurried out in the hallway, picked up his things and had placed a hand on the doorknob when his stomach growled. It would not be satisfied with one, small fruit.

With the fifth groan of that morning, he dropped his bag to the floor and reluctantly returned to the kitchen, every step of the way feeling like he betrayed himself.

_Well_, he looked around, taking the kitchen into full view as he stood in the door face. He stopped for a second, and then came to a conclusion._ "Take whatever you want of food from the kitchen, _was it? Well, thank you very much, then."

* * *

><p>His plan had been to spend the entire weekend sitting in front of the tv playing Kiku's games. The first thing he did after entering his house was drop down in the middle of the couch, spread his legs and arms wide, and basically conquer all of the couch with his body. Then he switched on the correct gaming platform, the television and grabbed around the gaming controller. The soft cushions of their three-seat couch was a blessing after walking for ten minutes and sitting on a hard bus seat in another twenty all the way home. When he had first sat down, he fully intended not to get back up except to get food, go to the toilet and go to sleep. If need be, he didn't mind sleeping on the couch either.<p>

"Where have you been?"

"Didn't Matt tell you I'd be at a friend's place?" Alfred did not even bothering to look up at his mum who had stopped behind the couch to address him. He could see a faint reflection of her in the television screen; it looked like she was carrying a stack of clean laundry. Probably tablecloths, Alfred concluded, seeing as they kept those in a cupboard in the living room, where the two of them were at the moment.

Alfred's mum huffed and carried on to her destination toward the other end of the living room, where she – as Alfred had anticipated – began pushed folded cloths into one of the cupboards there. "And who was this friend of yours?"

"Just a friend," Alfred replied with a shrug. There was a short pause, and then his mother's voice came again, though slower and sneakier.

"Was it _a girl_?"

"No."

Alfred could hear a heavy sigh from his left. Geez, his mother and her need to know everything. "Then, who was it? Someone I know?"

Alfred groaned a little, expressing his annoyance with her nosiness. But he answered her all the same.

"Arthur Kirkland from third grade," And he had expected his mother to leave it at that; as he had never mentioned him to her before, she should not really know who he was and therefore have no interest in continuing her inquire. But, no.

"Arthur Kirkland?" she asked, sounding a little surprised. "Oh, that must be Alice Kirkland's son."

Alfred all but nearly lost the controller. He spun abruptly around in the couch to look at her –to his rear's chagrin. "You know him?" he asked, flat out disbelieving.

"Well, I have never met Arthur, but I know his mother."

"Where do you know her from?" Alfred ignored the '_game over'_ blinking at the television screen; the position as the inquirer had been swapped around. _When_ did this happen? What kind of sick coincidence was this, that she would suddenly know the school president's mother?

His mother smiled. "My sewing club, every Thursday," And she picked up the remaining laundry that did not belong in the cupboard, leaving the living room with Alfred staring baffled after her. She disappeared out of view, her steps up the stairs sounding in her wake. Alfred slowly slid down in the couch and back toward the tv screen, retaining the same blown expression. The screen still flashed big letters telling him he was dead and almost numbly he pressed _x_ to make it go away. He got the question if he wanted to start over, but ignored it; he was busy trying to calm himself and think rationally, it was not like it really matter whether their parents knew each other or not. He rubbed his forehead, then reaffirmed his grip on the controller again, determined not to let this become an issue. As he started the game from an earlier save, he could hear his mother descending the stairs again in the background.

"How about we ask them over for dinner sometime?" her voice sounded from the hallway.

Alfred froze. Then he flipped around.

_"What?"_

This was indeed a hideous trick of fate; no rational thinking in the world could ever trick him to believe otherwise. With the remembrance of those little white notes clear in mind, he could only begin to imagine how horrid the school president could make such a dinner for him.

* * *

><p>By the time Monday came around, Alfred had used more time convincing his mother there was no reason to invite the Kirkland's than on playing Kiku's video game. He couldn't be bothered to feel depressed about the lost gaming time, though, as he was too relieved his mother had seemed to finally dismiss the dinner idea at the end of Sunday night. Matthew had appeared mildly surprised when he heard who the 'friend' Alfred had stayed over at was (appearing only 'mildly' probably because he wasn't displaying his feelings like Alfred always told him he should), but he had not asked much about it. Either that, or Alfred had failed to notice him asking between his tries to talk their mother from the dinner party. However, now that they were heading for school, nothing seemed to stop his brother.<p>

"I didn't know you knew Arthur Kirkland," he noted as they sat side by side on the bus. Alfred shrugged. It took a little more than he would like to admit to retain his cool and relaxed exterior.

"Then what were you doing at his house?" Matthew wondered. Alfred shrugged again, battling a faint tingling in his core. They were twins. They were very different, even for twins, but Alfred would still count them as very close, and they did talk about most stuff with each other. Yet, at the thought of sharing this with Matt, he suddenly felt very sheepish. He realised he would rather not.

"He was helping me with homework," he therefore brushed his brother off, continuing to gaze absently out the window, like he had since they entered the bus. Matthew sighed, leaning back in his seat.

"What's he like?" he asked, making Alfred turn slightly to him in surprise. It was Matthew's turn to shrug at the attention from his twin brother, though he did so with a small, lopsided smile and almost apologetic eyes. "I mean, is he like all the rumours say?"

Alfred gave it a short ponder. Matthew waited. Then Alfred deadpanned,

"Pretty much."

Matthew laughed and Alfred proceeded to steer the conversation onto something else.

Alfred safely reached school. He safely found Kiku, and safely returned the game, concluding that it had been awesome – even though he had not finished it, but he didn't say that –. Then he safely found his classroom and seat, and safely engaged in a safe, cheerful conversation with a couple of friends. His heart kept a steady and safe beat, as he realised no one knew of what had happened in the weekend, and that despite being a _smug ass_, Arthur Kirkland didn't run his mouth about other's business (even though it was technically Kirkland's business as well. More than technically. But still).

His heartbeat went from a safe to a sleepy one as their history teacher took the classroom and began the first lecture of the day. He babbled on about this and that and whatever, while Alfred played with his rubber, cutting off little chunks with his ruler and chucking them –using the ruler as a catapult – at random people in the classroom. He even did it at the teacher once or twice. Both times, he put on a very innocent and clueless face when the teacher turned around, receiving hushed laughs from his fellow classmates when the teacher returned to the blackboard without having found the culprit.

But, even though the history teacher had a sneaking feeling – or probably more of a cut-in-stone-certainty – of the students not really paying attention (apart from two or three), they were, at the very least, quiet.

In comparison, that was something completely different to the lecture that followed. The subject was maths. The teacher was an elderly woman, surely having been employed at the school for a hundred and eleven years, and deeply stuck in the old reforms. Her stressed hushes and annoyed 'quiet down's were mostly ignored, and after spending the first fifteen minutes trying to get everyone's attention and huffing about, she would always resign to teach the four students at the front who – for some reason or another – bothered to pay attention.

Today was no exception.

That was at least until half the lesson had passed, and a sudden sound interrupted the fifty-and-something years old teacher's lecture. The loudspeakers made a small explosion, crackled a little and then made a _'pling_' sound. The so unbearably loud class fell quiet on the second –the teacher sighing quietly.

_**"Good day."**_

A murmur went through the class. The same murmur that always could be heard when the school's _president _was on the line. The guy really had quite the reputation, Alfred noted, but for once he didn't partake in the murmuring. Instead, he tried not to shift in his seat.

_**"This is your president speaking. Could Alfred F. Jones please come to my office after the lesson?"**_

Alfred froze.

_**"Alfred F. Jones. Thank you,"**_ and the speakers died. A moment of silence followed. Then the classroom exploded, completely washing away the teacher's immediate commands for order, and even the dutiful four-leaf clover at the front turned to look at the blond at the back.

"_What did you do_?"

Alfred found himself cornered by a crowd of glowing, hungry-for-gossip, fellow students' eyes. For a split second he glanced from face to face, even spotting Matthew's somewhere in the background – who by the way was a part of the four-leafed clover of front row angel students, and who Alfred was going to copy the notes off of later. But then he got a hold of himself, slouched back in his chair, wore his winning grin, and said with great ease,

"Dunno. Maybe he's gonna confess to me or somethin'."

It made the class snicker. Arthur Kirkland had a reputation, and an odd form for respect with the student body, but that didn't stop them from spinning jokes about him.

"Well, it sounds like you're like totally in trouble."

Alfred scoffed jokingly, still with the grin on his face. "Aw c'mon, I'm sure he'll just wanna tell me I've been scouted by some top league football team," he winked, laughter followed, and he proceeded to take on a more aloof serious face. "Whatever it is, I've never spoken to the dude face to face before. S'gonna be interesting," _Shit._ Mistake. In the back of the crowd, he could just barely spot Matthew and a small wrinkle appearing between his twin brother's brows.

Alfred laughed at a joke he hadn't heard a word of, pushing his brother to the back of his mind.

He worked out a few more humorous ideas for the president's sudden request with the rest of his class, before they finally returned to the lesson (or returned to chatting about all and nothing, not paying attention). He had pulled it off. None of them had become suspicious, and without daring a glance toward his brother, he kept up the façade.

On the inside however, he was having a full-fledged panic attack, nervous, and mental breakdown at the same time. He was a mess. And not a pretty one.

* * *

><p>Alfred had received a few joking pats on the back as the others headed for lunch and he headed for the school president's office. He had grinned and poked his tongue out at their laughing "Good luck!"s, probably (hopefully) looking cool as ever.<p>

It wasn't all _that_ far from the classroom he had been having maths in to the school president's office; the classroom at been on the ground floor, relatively close to the staircase, and the president's office was at the second floor, though in the other end of the building. It took him about five minutes to walk there. Then it took him three heavy inhales and exhales before he knocked on the door – no wait, make that four inhales an – no five.

After counting ten pairs of inhales and exhales, Alfred lifted his knuckles he had rested against the door after the third exhale and let them fall against the door. He knocked four times, before gingerly pushing down the handle and poking his head in. And it was probably more out of a force of habit than any great bravery on his part that he grinned lopsidedly and said "You wanted to see me?" when he met eyes with the president behind a desk visa-vi the door.

Kirkland glanced up from something he was writing, smiled so his eyes twinkled when he spotted Alfred, and nodded him in.

"Yes, just a minute," he said. "Take a seat."

Alfred ventured inside and closed the door behind him. There was a chair in front and slightly to the side of the president's desk. The room was tidy, and the furniture showed no signs of any particular wear and tear. There was a bookcase full of folders and expensive looking books, and the curtains adoring the window behind Kirkland were not nearly as boring as the ones found in every and any classroom in the building. Overall, Alfred concluded as he slowly slumped down in the chair offered to him, it looked very much like any principal's office. Not to mention probably a lot nicer than many other schools' presidents' offices. If they at all had an office of their own. Wasn't it normal for them to share a room together with the rest of the student council? No wonder Kirkland acted all high and mighty.

The school president had put his pen down, though Alfred didn't notice –he was too busy stealing glances about the room – until Kirkland politely cleared his throat.

Alfred snapped his head back to the president. "Yes?" he croaked before thinking better of it. But, even though blurting this out (not to mention the state of his voice as he did so) made his stomach turn and hands fist up, it seemed to amuse Arthur Kirkland greatly. He leaned back in his chair, casually folding his hands.

"How are you doing?" he asked, pulling Alfred out of his short stupor of embarrassment.

"Oh, uh, fine," he said. He sounded really intelligent, didn't he? But Kirkland just smiled.

"That's good to know. I noticed you didn't take any of the painkillers I offered you," Kirkland said, voice fairly innocent and colloquial. Alfred stiffened. "However," Kirkland said, voice slowing slightly as he observed Alfred. Alfred in turn waited with a hammering heart. "I also noticed you took a gracious amount of the contents in my fridge and cupboards."

Alfred swallowed. But even though Arthur Kirkland, at the moment, appeared ever so slightly intimidating, being reminded of his earlier actions also reminded him of what had driven him to do it in the first place. Parts of the indignation and frustration from then bubbled to life. He shrugged nonchalantly, slouched a bit more into the chair and said,

"It was your offer. And I was hungry."

"Quite," was Kirkland's short reply. Though, his eyes were still twinkling. He was quiet for a while, and Alfred steeled himself to remain calm and casual in the chair. Then Kirkland suddenly extended one hand across the desk, leaning forwards.

It bade Alfred jump, which in turn made Kirkland chuckle once, and this again made Alfred scowl.

"What?" he asked. Really rather rudely.

"Do you have my key?" Kirkland replied, a small smile on his lips. It rendered Alfred baffled and completely lost for words. He had forgotten all about that. Having been prepared to basically pick a fight, backed up by his indignation, his brain had to spend several seconds to get on the right track from the unannounced hundred and eighty degree turn.

"Oh, yeah, I do," Alfred said hurriedly once his mind was back on track. Still a little out of it, he began frisking himself for the key. Soon noticing it was not in any of his pockets, he went through his bag, and after a long, thorough search, found it at the bottom.

"Here," he handed it to Kirkland across the desk.

"Thank you," Kirkland slipped it into the pocket of his school uniform jacket. "Do you want to decide on another date to meet up again?"

Alfred could have rolled his eyes, but had to make do with doing it in the back his mind. Arthur Kirkland said that in the same voice one would ask someone the price of the tomatoes, or talk of the weather, or - or make an appointment at the dentist's office, for that matter.

"Sure," Alfred shrugged. His voice had come out a little meeker than he intended, but he crossed his fingers Kirkland hadn't noticed. He probably had though.

The school president nodded, flipping open a book Alfred recognised to be a very traditional, black leather bound planner. "When are you free?" he asked whilst flipping through the pages to reach the current day's date.

Alfred gave it a thought. Or, he pretended he did anyway, for truth be told, he went completely blank trying to remember what possible plans he had already made for the future. When he didn't say anything for a while, Kirkland patted his pen against the planner a few times before saying,

"How about Saturday?"

"This Saturday?" Alfred replied dumbly.

"Yes, this Saturday," Kirkland answered with ease, looking back down in his planner. "I am free for mostly the whole day, Sunday as well,"

"Oh," Alfred's brain was still one, big, white sheet. "Sure, Saturday's fine." This was absurd.

They were quiet as Kirkland jotted down their appointment. Occupied with his planner and face turned downwards, it gave Alfred a chance to properly look at the school president. It was of course not as if he hadn't seen him before or anything. But in comparison to the glances and little looks people gave one another on a daily basis, Alfred could now sit and closely observe the other. The president's eyebrows were big. That he had noticed before, but now he saw how every little hair made out each eyebrow. They fit the president's face oddly well, now that he thought about it. The bridge of his nose was almost flawlessly straight, without the little bump at the middle that so many had. At the tip, it was neat and slightly rounded, catching part of the light from the lamp overhead. He couldn't see his eyes, as his face was cast downwards. Instead, he saw one small line running from the inner corner of each eye; traces of eye bags. Huh. He hadn't noticed that before.

Alfred's eyes followed the lines of Kirkland's face. It didn't look like he had much facial hair. Looking closely, there were traces of a moustache, but the hair was too light and thin to really be noticed. This was probably why the president had not shaved. Some guys had less facial hair than others did, or it came later. Concidering what he knew about the president, he had probably dropped shaving all together (Alfred knew several who shaved just for the sake of encouraging the growth), as it saved him trouble. And girls liked a smooth face. Or some did. As far as Alfred knew anyway. Kirkland's lips were a shadow or two darker than his skin, and a shade redder. Ish. Though only very vaguely. Now that the president wasn't talking, mouth closed and neutral, Alfred noticed just how plump they were. Well, not like a girl's, but in his mind, guys didn't have lips. That was a girl thing. But they were there. The top lip slimmer than the bottom. They were matt, and slightly rounded. Alfred had kissed those lips –or, well, they had kissed him, to be more exact. He traced their edge with his eyes, every little curve and dip. He wanted to kiss them again. Right now.

…_Okay!_ Looking at something else. Kirkland had ear flips. His ears were not the kinds that were completely rid of flips all together, but he didn't have those that hang downwards from where they came out of the skull. He had, like, half an ear flip. Sort of? Alfred laughed inwardly at himself. He was so lame.

Alfred was lost in his own thoughts, humouring himself greatly, so he didn't notice the small glance Kirkland gave him.

"Say," the president said. Alfred was jerked back to reality. The president gave him another glance. Then he put his pen down, closed the book and slid it into the uppermost desk drawer. "Are you sure you will be alright so quickly?"

"What do you mean?"

Kirkland smiled a little. "Your arse, Jones. It would not be good if it was still sore on Saturday." His smile widened and he leaned forwards, observing Alfred with those self-confident, knowingly glinting green eyes.

Heat immediately rose to Alfred's cheeks. "Yes, I'll be fine!" he said promptly.

"Alright. Though this time I don't have to leave early on Sunday, so I won't have to only leave notes again."

Alfred met Kirkland's eyes. Three seconds of silence passed. Then Kirkland grinned. "That colour is rather fetching on you, Jones."

Alfred jumped out of the chair. "See you Saturday!" And quickly left for the door. Behind him, he heard a "Looking forward to it," from Kirkland. Alfred ripped open the door-

Only to come face to face with someone. He was abruptly stopped dead in his tracks, having been close to running straight into the poor person. Blue eyes looked surprised at him, an elegant eyebrow lifting with intrigue. "Bonjour," the person, more accurately student council vice president Francis Bonnefoy, said with a charming smile.

"Sorry," Alfred said quickly, stepping past him. The vice president entered the room behind him and as the door swung to shut, Alfred could hear him speak,

"Zat was zat Alfred boy from second grade, non?" And said blond second grader couldn't help but halt again. He could still hear their voices; the door had not closed properly.

With a heart that picked up in speed, trying his best to breathe soundlessly, he snuck back to the door. The hallway was empty; the very faint sounds of people outside seeping through the windows the only thing filling it.

"I didn't zink virgins were your zing?" Alfred's breath caught in his throat. Why, _how,_ did Bonnefoy know that? That wasn't good. Maybe Kirkland didn't bother running his lip about others, but Bonnefoy wasn't made of the same wood.

"No, it isn't," Kirkland replied. Alfred's heart thumped away. Any minute someone could come around the corner, spot him, and they would know he was listening. Wait. _What_ had Kirkland just said?

"So Alfred is special?" Bonnefoy asked, voice obviously teasing. Kirkland huffed. The sound of a pen scratching against paper started up.

"No. But," the pen stopped briefly. "You must have seen him without a shirt before." Bonnefoy laughed. Alfred became beat read. And hot. Not sure whether to feel flattered or the complete opposite. "Besides," Kirkland continued, the pen picking up again. "He is entertaining," Bonnefoy laughed even more.

"Tu es so evil, Arthur,"

"Well, they all seem to be of the opinion that the English are weak and gay. I am merely doing my duty to show them it is quite the other way around."

"Remind me," Bonnefoy said, a smirk evident in his voice as he at the same time huffed. "Did you come 'ere to Amérique for school, or to terrorise Americans?"

"Why, the former of course. The latter is just a generous bonus."

* * *

><p><strong>An: I am so, so, so sorry for the wait. Though I am trying not to take so long. I've been very busy lately –so busy, you actually have no idea- and when I looked at the update date for this story I discovered it had been <strong>_**almost two months**_** already. I hope I still have some readers left. '^' **

**I'm so sorry. I wrote this chapter in two days. Discovering how long it had been gave me a real kick. X) Anyhow, I hope you enjoyed. :D And don't forget to tell me what you thought about this chapter before you leave~ ;3**

**Betaed by the wonderful Hitsu4HinaEva-Hari-Sama. **

**(And for those who missed it, that last part of this chapter here is the reason for the title of this story xD )**


	5. Chapter 5

He had come shuffling in through the door, practically dragging everything: dragging his feet, his bag, his jacket hanging half off of his arms.

Sure, the football training his team had every Monday had been rather demanding this day, but that normally did not take much of a toll on him. Trying to avoid having to go home together with his twin brother however, had been a completely different matter, and by the time he crossed the threshold of his home, he was exhausted.

Matthew was in a study group on Mondays, and normally he would therefore pack up his books fifteen minutes before the others to catch the same bus as Alfred. Today had been no exception. Alfred had had to do both this and that to prevent them from getting on the same bus home, and doing this as discretely as possible had been a lot more challenging than he had expected. But here he was finally, safe and sound in his own home, the journey having been completed in complete solitude. Matthew was probably in his room by now, and Alfred tried to make as little noise he could, getting some food (without his mother noticing, who was in the living room humming distractedly) and secluding himself in his own room.

After that, all seemed to go pretty well. Dinner was served an hour and a half later, the two brothers' mother calling them down from the bottom of the stairs. Their father came in the door at the exact moment they sat down by the table, and the food itself was consumed while a cheerful and completely normal conversation of 'how-are-you-doing's and 'how-was-your-day's flittered around the table.

All in all, there was just one tiny thing that kept Alfred constantly reminded of what had happened in school, and that was Matthew's eyes. Though his twin brother answered when spoken to, and generally part-took in the conversation in the exact same way he always did, his eyes rarely left Alfred. They were curious, but not in a puppy kind of way. Instead, they were curious in a serious manner, most looking like they wanted to reprimand him about something. So Alfred tried not to look too much in his brother's direction.

When every last trace of food had been eaten – Alfred taking care of the final remnants – they put their plates in the dishwasher, were about to leave, but returned at a huffed request from their mother to help tidy up. This took about ten minutes, then they were allowed to go, and Alfred headed for his room at a determined pace. He half expected to be stopped halfway, but wasn't, and as he closed the door to his room he wondered if maybe he was overreacting. Maybe he had just imagined the look Mathew gave him in class, and maybe even during dinner just now had only been tricks his stressed mind had played on him.

He was ready to believe this and forget all about it, when there was a knock on the door. Still caught up in his reasoning, he threw an absent "yeah?" in the door's direction and flopped down on the bed, picking up his laptop occupying the space on the way and placing it on his belly. The door opened and Alfred glanced toward it. Matthew peeked in at him, then entered.

"What is it?" Alfred asked, looking back to his computer to punch in the password that would unlock it with a short welcoming tune. He was careful to keep a casual expression. There was no need to overreact, even if Matthew _had_ looked at him during dinner, it was not like the whole thing was that big of a deal.

Matthew closed the door and crossed the floor to look at him a few seconds and then sit down in the chair, turning it toward the bed in the process.

"Alfred," he said, serious, but in a low voice.

"Hm?" Alfred didn't look up. He made himself busy with checking out his notifications on Facebook.

"In class today," Matthew went on. Alfred stared intently at the little, blue globe up to the left on his screen. It had a small, red square accompanying it, fashioning the number of his notifications in its middle.

"What about today?" he said, playing casually ignorant to the best of his ability. Matthew pulled in a deep breath, but Alfred still didn't look at him and could only imagine how his brother's chest rose and fell with the inhale and exhale of air. Though at the lack of response, Matthew stayed silent for a little while, observing Alfred who intensely clicked his way through pictures and comments and what-not.

But then Matthew must have decided he had prolonged it for long enough and said without hint of hesitation,

"Why did you say you had never met Kirkland before?"

Alfred's index finger halted on the touchpad, but only for a quarter of a second and very few, next to no one, would have noticed it.

"What're you talking about?" he said easily. But regardless of his casual tone, an uncomfortable sensation crawled down his spine, his armpits getting sticky. He knew that he could fool pretty much anyone, it was just his luck that the one single person he couldn't deceive was right there with him. It probably had something with having lived together since before birth – literally –, and Alfred knew his overly straight stare at the screen and tense shoulders were giving him away. Yet he couldn't bring himself to drop the pretence.

A few feet away, Matthew sighed again. At this point he would normally drop it, but for some reason he was pushing on instead. Lucky Alfred to have a brother who cared. "In class, when the school president called for you, you said you had never met him before so it would be interesting," Matthew shifted a bit in the chair, leaning slightly forwards with a frown. "But this morning you told me it was Kirkland's you had stayed over at last Friday. So why did you say something else in class?"

"Oh, that, it was just a-" Alfred was about to reply, but was for once cut off by Matthew.

"Which one was a lie?"

-_slip of the tongue…_ Alfred's bad excuse died in his throat. He opened his mouth, but shut it again. His eyes fell to the duvet under him, flickering across the pattern as silence weighed down on them. Alfred glanced up at his brother briefly, their eyes met and he felt a pang of need to share everything with the timid blond in the chair. But he looked away again instead.

Matthew only waited a few more seconds before a last sigh came from him and he heavily got to his feet.

"I'm not going to prod around in your private life, and if you don't want to tell me, that's fine. But Alfred," he didn't meet his eyes as Matthew looked at him. "Be careful. Don't get mixed up in something you shouldn't. Think of mum and dad, they are so proud of you."

Alfred was at a loss of words, his heart pounding fast in his chest. He felt a little sick. Uncomfortable. But what he was doing was, well, maybe not like an innocent walk in the park, but it was not like he was killing people, he tried to reason with himself. What Matthew had said repeated itself in his mind, it felt like his head spun. In confusion he realised he didn't understand all of what Matthew had said. What exactly was it Matthew suspected him of? The gears of his brain grinded in high speed. _Oh_.

Matthew thought maybe what Alfred had said in class was the truth. That Alfred, last Friday, could have been involved in something il-

"Wait," he shot to his feet, going in pursuit after Matthew toward the door. "I really was at Kirkland's place last Friday," he said, his hand slamming against the doorframe due to his speed. Matthew had opened the door and turned now to look at him, standing in the doorway. "I didn't lie to you." Alfred gazed into the eyes that were so much alike and so different from his own; the eyes that were a light blue, but took on a slight, unearthly purple hue if hit by the right light. He found he was at a loss of words again. His mouth opened, closed, reopened.

"I-" _slept with the school president._ They were simple words really, and not that big of a deal at all. Nothing no one else hadn't done before him, nothing special, especially in comparison to what could have crossed Matthew's mind. It was the reason he had slept with the guy in the first place, wasn't it? So he could boast his virginity being lost. Obviously, he would say it was a girl, and not a boy, but he had already said he was home at the school president's place. Could he say the president had introduced him to a girl? ….In his own flat? As he continued to gaze into those familiar eyes Alfred felt every excuse rushing through his mind die on his tongue. He wanted to tell the truth, he really did, it was unnerving to keep the secret bottled up. But his mind supplied him with the imaginary image of distaste and disappointment in his brother's face and glued it to the back of his eyelids.

Alfred's shoulders sagged a little, he surrendered to his fear and with a silent voice he said,

"I was just with Kirkland last Friday, I wasn't doing anything special. I just forgot. In class." Yeah right. With the face he was making, not even a mentally disturbed stranger was going to believe him. But Matthew didn't say anything more. He just nodded and left, Alfred standing in the door face with a sinking feeling in his stomach and the nausea of guilt building in his throat. This was so messed up.

* * *

><p>Alfred had returned to his bed and computer without a sound. He had given the door a small push, it had swung slowly, and he had just heard it click shut as he had placed the laptop back to rest atop his middle. Matthew's room was on the other side of the wall, but he had heard no sounds from it. Idly, and not really paying attention, he had flickered through a few messages and profiles on Facebook. He had briefly wondered what all these people who seemed to be so fond of him, all these who linked him, sent him messages, invited him to parties and arrangements and whatnot, would say if they knew he didn't <em>like-like<em> girls.

He had only managed to remain like that for another few minutes, however. At one point he had heard the soft thud of his twin brother's bedframe bumping against the other side of the wall, signalising Matthew had either gone to bed, or copied Alfred.

Right now though, Alfred was wrapping his jacket tighter around him as a chill breeze brushed past him. He had felt too restless at home. He had left quickly, and only with a short "_I won't be long_" to his mother which he was not even sure she had heard, heading out into the cool night. He had walked along the streets with no real goal, lost in his own thoughts with a deep furrow imbedded between his eyebrows that he didn't notice. He didn't notice much at all really, until his feet hit grass and he discovered he had walked to the nearby park.

He stopped, looking around. A few feet away the thoroughly trimmed grass gave way for sand, an assortment of playground equipment and toys scattered across it. Amongst them were two swings. Alfred headed for them.

He chose the one to the left, sitting down with his back to where he had come from so he had a full view of the rest of the park. It was not that big; there was the playground, but the rest was little more than a flat patch of short, green grass. A few trees protruded here and there, though were not many enough to obscure the view in any way; the houses surrounding the park were not shut out at all. There was a square of gravel in the centre of the park, benches placed around the edge, and through the entire park ran one single gravel-path, from one corner and in a diagonal line to the other end. All in all, the park wasn't much of a get-away from everyday city life.

Alfred effortlessly kicked off backwards from the sand, a split second his rubber wheel swing hanging in the air, before it swung forwards and he leaned back to make the most of the small momentum. When the swing reached the top of its climb, he leaned forwards, bending his legs under the black car wheel, and when the swing reached its peak that way too, he repeated the little sequence. He closed his eyes. Cool air brushed against his skin, making his short, blond hair dance and hover around his scalp. The swing was meant for a child, so sometimes, during the swing's backwards decline, his feet would brush against the ground and kick up a small and brief cloud of sand. Above him he could hear the structure's joints groaning and creaking due to his weight with every swing back and forth, but he had long since learned to ignore it, as the wood and bolts were thick and strong and the sounds not a sign of possible collapse. Beyond the nearest sound of the construction parts grinding against each other (and the constant swishing of wind past his ears), he could hear leaves rustle in the night breeze, the croaking of thick, old branches, and past that, the never dying noise of the city.

After a while, one time when the swing reached the top of its forwards ascending curve, Alfred remained leaned backwards instead of leaning forwards, his eyes still closed. This caused the swing to tip in the air a little, fall a short drop before being jerked back into an unsteady descend by the chains. Alfred remained like he was, hanging backwards from his arms, legs out, feeling how the swing quickly lost velocity as he was not moving in time with it anymore. It half swivelled to and fro in jerky movements, as if it refused to die, Alfred feeling the familiar sensation of a light nausea creep up his throat. In his mind he could imagine his head smashing open against one of the poles holding up the swing, had they been closer. Then the infinite end of the swing's momentum was reached and they stood still. The swing only swung half-heartedly from side to side now, Alfred's ankles, which were planted in the sand, being the centre of its axis.

The eighteen years old blond still hung backwards ten minutes later. Of course, he himself did not know how much time had passed, only that the swing had long since come to a complete halt, that the distant city noises had not lessened in the least, and that his hands had been aching for a little while as all the weight of his upper body hung from their grasp of the red plastic clad chains. In his mind he kept picturing his brother's face. Even though Matthew had let the matter pass back in his room, Alfred had seen the slight hint of disappointment in his brother's face when he had left.

The two of them never lied to each other and never fought, or at least very rarely. And eve when that happened, it would mostly it would just be Matthew trying to tell him off with that soft voice of his –though the stern look in his eyes would always be unmistakable –, Alfred would laugh at him or altogether ignore him. But despite what others seemed to believe, he always took note of what had been said to him and tried to do something about it later. But besides this, the two of them always talked with each other. Despite their complete opposite demeanour, and people musing that had they not been family they would never be friends, they trusted each other, like siblings do, and would always resort to each other for comfort or help.

The two of them never batted away the other's outstretched hand, or at least very rarely. Though Alfred had today. And over such a foolish little thing too! Really, what was wrong with him these days? He had only slept with the president-dude once, and already felt like the troubles were piling up over his head. He was getting way too messed up over small things. Talk about being a drama queen. Geez. He had not been overreacting like this since he was seven and his football (American football, mind, not that stupid soccer thing) had gotten stuck on the roof and he had broken his leg trying to climb up the rain gutter.

Yes, that was the right mind-set. He was not the type to let trifles like this get to him, especially not stuff he had caused himself. He was popular, he had sexual experience now; he was ready for the world. He nodded once, determinedly, to himself. Then he opened his eyes.

And screamed.

-Well, maybe not _screamed_, exactly, but he made a small cry, first in surprise, then a second one in pain.

What had happened was this: Alfred had opened his eyes, still leaned back in the swing, to stare straight up into a pair of green eyes less than three inches from his face. This had, like it would have to any sane person, scared him (_surprised_ him) shitless. He had made a sound of surprise, like any human with ordinary reflexes would, and had instinctively tried to sit up. Seeing as the eyes had a head to go with them, and the eyes were less than three inches from his, this also meant another person's _head_ was less than three inches from his. So when he tried sitting up, their foreheads smashed together, one tumbling backwards, the other sitting bent forwards on a swing; both with momentary splitting headaches.

"What are you doing here?" Alfred managed to finally groan out, the left side of his brain still feeling like it wanted a permanent and physical divorce from the right side, massaging his forehead. He was half turning in the swing so he could spot the other a few metres behind him, basically mimicking Alfred's hand movement and sending him a short glance before pulling a hand through his hair, noting dryly,

"What a polite greeting." Though despite his words and tone, he carried on without Alfred having to answer (he didn't really have an answer either, so it was just as well). "I am on my way home. I was babysitting my first cousin once removed."

Alfred was dumbfound, his pain suddenly completely forgotten. He turned even more on the rubber wheel, staring with wide eyes and lifted eyebrows at the third grader. "You? _Babysit_?" he gaped, words spoken before he could think better of it, only _this _far from breaking out laughing. Oh, if only the rest of the school knew.

The eyebrow the student president lifted however, silenced him. "Is the thought that entertaining?" But despite the seemingly intimidating approach, there was a small smile on the guy's face and Alfred realised it was only a mock threat. He smiled lopsidedly, giving a shrug.

"You just didn't hit me as the type."

Kirkland snorted, jerking his head slightly in a 'you don't say' sort of fashion, like this was something he had heard before.

They were silent for a little while. Alfred turned around completely, so his back was to the park, one leg slung over the entire wheel to hang off it on Kirkland's side; the other hanging through the hole and leaning on the sandy ground. He sat a little askew so he could lean his shoulder against one of the chains when he hunched forwards and a little to the side.

As the drama of the moment settled, the night sounds and noises came back into attention and as they remained silent, Alfred took to looking at Kirkland. He was wearing a smart, black coat with a neatly knitted scarf. It was late, but he meant to recognise the president's trousers to be his school uniform bottoms in the sparse light from one of the shabby, yellow-bulbed streetlamps. Puzzled, he let his eyes move to Kirkland's face – his attention appeared to be on the trees and night sky –, and realised the school president looked tired. Alfred's curiosity peaked. This did not fit in with the imaginary picture he had made of the president, not to mention the whole babysitting ordeal. He kept looking at Kirkland and discovered he wanted to know more. What else was there to this perverted, overly self-confident, cocky, English dude that even the rumours did not catch the scent of?

Alfred was so busy picturing Kirkland playing with a small child and wondering if he had ever had any pets or bathtub ducks, that he did not notice the other taking notice of _him_, until he had been staring into the other's eyes for a few moments. When the presidents grinned and laughed a little, he was jerked back to reality though, hurriedly finding something else to glue his eyes to on the way.

"So tell me, what are you doing here?"

Thus Alfred was reminded why he was there in the first place, felt his stomach turn slightly, and elegantly evaded the question with one of his own:

"What are you doing in this park? I thought you lived on the other side of town?"

"I do," Kirkland sighed, for the moment taking Alfred's bate. "But my cousin lives here, and she wanted me to babysit her son, Peter" – he huddled his shoulders up a little as a cold puff of air brushed past them – "at her home so I could put him to bed there. I'm heading for the bus stop over there." He nodded his head to somewhere behind Alfred, and Alfred remembered there was a bus stop right on the other side of the park so he didn't turn to look. Instead he nodded once and uttered a small 'oh', and huddled his shoulders up a little as well. He absently wished he had remembered to bring a scarf.

Kirkland moved. He crossed the sand, it making something between a whispering and a crunching sound under his feet, and he stopped by one of the swing-construction's leg poles to lean against it. A vacant swing separated them. Kirkland let one leg nonchalantly cross the other.

"Now you," he said. "What brings you here, when you should obviously be indoors either doing homework or practicing your bed-skills?" His eyes glinted. It could just be because of the streetlight, and not by any particular malicious intent on the president's side, but Alfred doubted that. And despite grumbling to himself to stop behaving like an idiot, he could feel heat spread in his chilled cheeks. He didn't answer, just looked away with an annoyed pout. However, what Kirkland said next made him spin his head back to him.

"Broke up with your girlfriend?"

Alfred glared. "No," he said. "I don't have a girlfriend." The student president's eyes narrowed lightly with entertainment, a small smirk hanging on the corners of his lips. "And not any other kind of 'friend' either," Alfred quickly added indignantly, desperately trying to battle the heat in his face. Kirkland lifted his hands in a surrendering manner.

"Fine, fine. It's not any of my business what way you swing. I don't really care either way."

When Alfred had let his gaze slip down to the ground again, idly kicking up sand, the president lowered his hands and slipped them back into the shielded confinement of his coat pockets.

Alfred dug his foot into the sand, watching the small grains cover his shoe, seep into every furrow and crevice in the fabric, tumbling and skidding when he rocked his foot a little. He didn't actually mean to say it, but it slipped out before he could stop it,

"I had a fight with my brother."

He continued staring at the ground. Well, not a _fight_, exactly, but it was the closest he could get without getting into minutes long explanations, and he didn't feel like doing that. The student president didn't respond. Moving his eyes slightly so he could spot the older teen out of the corner of his eye, Alfred saw that every trace of teasing and sarcasm had left the president's face. He was looking at Alfred with a sort of thoughtful look. Then –Alfred could hardly believe his own eyes, telling himself it for sure must have been a trick by the bad lighting- his eyes seemed to turn softer.

"Do the two of you get along well?"

If the change in demeanour had surprised him, then nothing could have prepared him for this. Alfred's eyebrows shot up and he turned to Kirkland. Dumbly, he nodded.

"Well, yeah, he's my brother...?" he said slowly, his confusion making it almost sound like a question. A small smile flittered across Kirkland's face. He pushed away from the wooden pole he was leaning against, crossing the few steps separating them. He stopped in front of Alfred, looking down at him with that thoughtful look, the younger teen blinking owlishly back up. Alfred did his best not to flicker his eyes, feeling a little unsure in the silence that followed and the undivided attention shown him. However, next, he found himself surprisingly enough relaxing:

"Then whatever you did, I am sure he will forgive you," Kirkland said. "Your brother is Matthew from your class, isn't it?" he continued, Alfred nodding. "He is a good bloke," Kirkland then said, as if reaching a conclusion, and Alfred suddenly felt like all his despair had been eliminated. Almost like Kirkland had given him some sort of excellent argument to why he was getting worked up over nothing, and Alfred really felt like he didn't have anything to worry about.

Following this, the student president did something that would leave the younger teen sitting on the swing for another quarter of an hour, perplexed and disoriented, before he would numbly get up and tussle home.

Kirkland took a light hold of the red plastic covered chain with one hand, a few ways over Alfred's own, making the younger teen tilt his head back to glance quizzically at it. The student president leaned forwards and gently pressed his lips to Alfred's.

It was short, soft and innocent. Then he straightened, stuffed the other hand into his pocket again and said he had better get to the bus now as he had some stuff he needed to take care of before going to bed. So he left, the whispering crunching sound of his shoes against sand sounding behind Alfred, then the sound of shoes against gravel following, growing dimmer in the night. Then nothing.

* * *

><p>Matthew hadn't been home when Alfred kicked his shoes off and headed upstairs. He had poked his head into his twin's room, but it was empty. When he shouted down the stairs, his father replied Matthew had popped over to one of the neighbours to pick up a DVD they had borrowed.<p>

Alfred sighed, closed his door, crossed the floor, picked up his laptop, flopped down on the bed and placed the flat machine on his stomach. No new emails, no new tweets, a few new notifications, though they were only comments on different arrangements he was part of and not addressed directly at him. After reading the random comments anyway, he had ended up at his class' Facebook page, where the last comment had been. From there he found the link to their school's Facebook page and clicked it just for the hell of it. He was relatively absentminded as he randomly clicked different links here and there, picking up something about a winter activity day, something about a graduation party, and other random messages deemed important for the student body to know. Then the face of Arthur Kirkland stared back at him from the screen.

Alfred blinked, pulled out of his deep train of thoughts – immediately forgetting what he had been thinking about in the process –, and leaned in closer to the screen. Yes, that was indeed Arthur Kirkland listed in the members list, the word 'admin' displayed next to the picture, along with the president's name. Asking himself why he had not thought of doing this before, he clicked the name, holding his breath without noticing while doing so.

The page that met him was a pretty normal one. A picture, basic information, and the comments and shared things listing downwards. Alfred read a few of the comments, realising that Kirkland appeared to be quite the popular person (well duh, just think about what the rumours say), or at least busy. But he didn't find anything in particular that was of interest, and disregarded them after reading another few. He swapped to look at the menu bar stretching out across the screen under the profile picture. Friends, photos, maps, likes.

Photos.

The student president hadn't published many photos on his own. The profile picture folder was there, but apart from that the only folder there was three years old, labelled 'graduation'. Below these however, was the wide collection that read 'photos and videos of Arthur'. Pictures others had taken, uploaded and tagged.

The first couple of pictures were half blurred ones, obviously taken unceremoniously and hurriedly. Kirkland was in his school uniform, and after two pictures Alfred recognised different parts of their school in the background. He looked on. Some of the pictures had comments like '_ha! Got you!' _and '_o__ur student president makes me proud'_ or '_during his speech last Monday'_.

Alfred was about to drop the whole thing after clicking his way through a heap of blurry school pictures, when a completely different picture met him.

The first thing that was obvious was the change of atmosphere. All the school pictures so far had been full of light, despite being blurry. This one on the other hand was dim and made up of hues in dark colours, though it was blurry just as the others. In-between the blurred, moving objects were streaks of blurred out neon lights. Curiously, Alfred clicked on.

His jaw slowly slid down and his eyes bulged out as he sucked in the sight meeting him. A close-up of Kirkland, hair tussled in an intentional, charming way, eyes half lidded and slurred, a candid grin on his lips as he was obviously moving about –probably dancing. This picture must have been taken by a real expensive camera (with a good flash) for a change, being able to capture movement in dim lighting. Alfred clicked to the next picture. Here Kirkland had discovered his photographer (most likely because of the flash, which would pierce through any drunken state), and his eyes were focusing right into the centre of the picture, smile lost to the advantage of a surprised questioning look. In the next one he was smirking, striking a pose for the camera, one hand in his hair and looking positively, immensely attractive.

Alfred only noticed he was staring when a door slammed downstairs, someone a few seconds later coming up the stairs. His heart abruptly raced, thumping hard in his chest and Alfred closed the Facebook window, sitting and waiting as the steps padded past his room to the bathroom at the end of the small hallway. Only when the person had returned downstairs did he slowly reopen Internet Explorer, type in ' ', and then 'Arthur Kirkland'. He scrolled quickly down to where he had left off and selected the picture to enlarge it. Kirkland had his hand through his hair, and first now Alfred discovered his ear that was openly disposed at the lack of hair eclipsing it. Two small rings hang from the lobe, a small silver globe glinting in the upper arch. In the next picture he was showing off a matching globe in his tongue.

The next five pictures –the next eleven, actually, appeared to be from the same club. Following these were a few school pictures, some pictures of Kirkland and someone else in a living room, fashioning casual clothes and pointedly ignoring the photographer. After that were another set of what Alfred decided to label as 'party pictures'. He stumbled upon a picture of the student president and Francis Bonnefoy together. There had been a few of these in the school pictures, but this was the first party pictures of the two. A few pictures later was a photo of three bodies lying like dead, half on top of each other, duvets and blankets in full disarray and no clear distinction to make out which belonged to what person.

After a bit of analysing, he figured a sandy blond headed figure to be Kirkland, the one next to him Gilbert – the white hair was a dead giveaway –. A brown haired and slightly more tanned boy sleeping with half his body across Gilbert must have been Antonio-last-name-something; one of Gilbert's three best friends, and member of the infamous _trio_ of the school. Their rumour quite battled that of the student council duo. Though one of the individuals being in both groups caused a certain blurred line between the two sets of rumours and stories at times. The French person in question was nowhere to be seen in the picture however, and Alfred concluded that he was the one behind the camera.

Kirkland was lying on his stomach, one hand under the pillow he seemed to be suffocated in –except he was still alive today, so that could not have been the case. The other arm was slung randomly across Gilbert's face. The albino in turn was lying in a sort of askew line, in comparison to Kirkland. His head was at level with the president's neck, and the rest of his body followed slanting diagonally away from Kirkland. He was lying on his back, and across his middle, the tanned boy's legs lay. The knees were right at the middle, so they bent perfectly over the sleeping person. Antonio was lying on his back, arms stretched flat out to either side, mouth slightly ajar with peaceful sleep. All in all, a very sloppy, messy sight. Only Kirkland had hung onto a pillow, one other to be spotted up in the left hand corner, the third (and fourth, if Bonnefoy had been sleeping with them as well) nowhere to be seen. It was the same thing all over again with the duvets.

Alfred caught himself shaking his head with a lopsided grin. He looked to the right side of the picture, where the comment section followed, and scrolling downward he skimmed through some of them.

Francis Bonnefoy had written in the description '_quite the night~'_ with a cliché heart following it. Below, Gilbert's name was the first to be spotted. Gilbert Beilschmidt _'Nice t properly meet ya, Pres!'._ Arthur Kirkland '_Likewise. Thanks for letting me stay.'._ Gilbert Beilschmidt '_Don't sweat it'_. A few more comments followed, something about a brother, a party and some other things, but by now Alfred's eyes had strayed far enough down to catch sight of the digital laptop clock.

Normally he would have dragged out the hours, staying awake until after his parents went to sleep. But for once he flipped down the screen of his machine, clicking it shut.

He dragged himself off the bed, reflecting upon the pictures he had just seen. Looking in thought at the black outer of the laptop, he realised he felt intrigued. It had never hit him before that there would be more to the guy than the common word of the school. They had practically lived in completely different worlds, so the president had never really been a cause of much interest to him. But now he was curious. Still looking at the laptop, he summarised what he already knew of the guy –which wasn't all that much, admittedly, but a lot more than roughly one and a half weeks ago. For instance that the guy was a lot, _a lot_, cockier than the rumours gave him credit for, that he folded clothes, and was quite – Alfred realised this with a small shock, not having actually thought about it before – hospitable (in a way). And polite, and had three piercings in his left ear and one in his tongue. Alfred wondered if the president had piercings anywhere else. Feeling a distant heat in his cheeks followed by a dense prickling up his spine, he thought that he would get the chance to figure out pretty soon.

The student president also liked to party –but that was something he knew already. He babysat his (what was it? Second cousin? Alfred couldn't remember. Some family member at least), and could give gentle kisses if he wanted to.

Alfred stopped. Right. …What had that been all about? He frowned at the closed laptop, reviewing the night's recent events. According to what he knew, the president had been completely out of character. Kirkland had looked so sincere and serious too. Not mocking him. Unless the student president took evil mocking to new heights. Alfred closed his eyes briefly.

Then his mobile phone rung.

Alfred was so startled he lost the laptop.

* * *

><p><strong>Geh. Again. I took incredibly long. I'm so so so sorry. ,_, I hope I still have a few of my beloved readers left. '^' I have been battling a bit of a writer's block (a rather horrible one), and I have sort of written this chapter in one go without thinking too much. Hoping that the block would disappear if I just forced something out, you know? Now I'm not so sure what I think of this chapter, it's what I manage to write for now and I really hope you liked it, but if you didn't, I guess I can understand that. X) <strong>

**HitsuHina was busy, so I had another beta, 'Gothic Insomniac', who really just sent me a message out of the blue offering to be my beta. Very convenient and perfect timing, as I was missing a beta. **

**Please, please, **_**please**_** don't hesitate to tell me if parts of the chapter was too hurriedly written, not given enough room or ended up becoming too 'whiny' on Alfred's part (or too confusing). **


	6. AN

Author's note:

First off, I'm sorry for not doing anything with this story for more than a year, and if there's actually anyone out there still paying attention to this story, I'm sorry this isn't an actual chapter, but an an.

Second off, as you probably guessed, this story hit a proper writer's block. Aaand then a few months after I wrote the first 5 ch I read it over and though "this is shit" xD and kinda lost my inspiration. I do intend to rewrite this story though, and I do have several ideas for what is to happen in the story… but that's also the problem… I got ideas, but no strength (or what to call it) to put it into word on paper.

So I guess what I'm trying to say is that I haven't left this story 100%, but it's gonna take a while, probably, to get back to it. At least it won't happen until I've finished Before They Learn To Swim, soooo yeah. I'm sorry.

Thanks for reading. :)


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